Create a Mass Party!

Cliff Connolly critiques CounterPower’s vision of the “party of autonomy” and offers an alternative vision of the mass party. 

In Praise of Communism by Ronald Paris, sourced from here.

The US left is at a critical juncture where the structure and focus of our organizations will soon be decided. On the one hand, we positively have ongoing processes of cohesion in play with DSA chapters collaborating on writing a national platform and far-flung sects coming together under the banner of Marxist Center. On the other hand, we have many comrades across ideological lines who still echo opposition to the idea of a tightly structured national organization. Central to this contradiction is the question of the party: should socialists strive to build an independent political party, and if so, what should that look like? CounterPower has put forth one possible answer in their article Create Two, Three, Many Parties of Autonomy! They are dedicated organizers and we should all be glad to have them in our midst. However, their strategy of eschewing the mass party model and encouraging the spontaneous formation of multiple “parties of autonomy”, and counting on these disparate groups to unite into an “area of the party”, is unworkable in the long term.

Their argument for the many parties strategy rests on a number of errorshistorical misrepresentation (no, CPUSA was not a party of autonomy), uncritical acceptance of failed models (Autonomia Operaia gives us more negative lessons than positive ones), an over-reliance on spontaneity (movements have to be built intentionally), an aversion to leadership (no, it doesn’t automatically create unaccountable bureaucracy), and a confusion of terms (putting anarchist and Marxist vocab words together does not solve the contradictions between them). We will explore each of these points in greater detail. There is also an implicit assumption of false dichotomies built into the many parties lineeither we build parties of autonomy or slip into sectarianism, either parties of autonomy or dogmatism, either parties of autonomy or top-down bureaucracy. There is a kernel of truth present here; we certainly don’t want a dictatorship of paid staffers. However, parties of autonomy are not a solution to this problem in some ways, they would exacerbate the problem.

This was initially written in response to CounterPower’s original essay in 2019, but has since been amended to include dialogue with the updated version published in 2020. The differences between the two are significant and raise new concerns about the many parties model. The most interesting addition in the update concerns the role of cadre highly trained organizers dedicated full-time to party activity. While we agree wholeheartedly on the necessity of these professional revolutionaries, there is a difference of emphasis that merits debate. This issue will be explored in greater detail below.

That CounterPower started this conversation on the party question is a gift to the whole of the US leftit must be addressed for our organizations to move forward. While many of us vehemently disagree with their conclusions, we should be grateful for their company. After examining each piece of their argument for the many parties model and taking note of its shortcomings, we will investigate a viable alternativea mass party of organizers built on the principles of struggle, pluralism, and democratic discipline. 

Historical Clarification

There are a number of historical errors throughout CounterPower’s article. By this we are not referring to a difference of opinion about a certain historical figure’s thought process or the motivations behind a particular decision, but rather factual inaccuracies. This in itself does not mean the thesis of the article is automatically false, but it does betray a dependency on unfounded assumptions. First, there is the assertion that the Russian soviets arose organically without being built by socialists, at which point the Bolsheviks joined them and worked harmoniously with other autonomous parties in this “area of the party” to link the soviets to other sites of struggle. Second, there is the quotation from Mao Zedong’s 1957 Hundred Flowers speech, which CounterPower uses to bolster their argument for parties of autonomy. Finally, we are led to believe that both the FAI and the Alabama chapter of the Communist Party USA are exemplars of the many parties model. 

We will begin with the relationship between the Bolsheviks and the soviets. Here is CounterPower’s characterization:

“The organized interventions of a revolutionary party thus take place ‘in the middle,’ as mediations between the micropolitical and macropolitical. This has been a distinguishing feature of successful revolutionary parties, as in the example of the Russian Revolution of 1917, when clusters of Bolshevik party activists concentrated in workplaces, recognizing that the participatory councils (soviets) emerging from grassroots proletarian struggles embodied the nucleus of an alternative social system. Thus the party’s organization at the point of production enabled revolutionaries first to link workplace struggles against exploitation with the struggle against imperialism, and then to link the emergent councils with the insurrectionary struggle to establish a system of territorial counterpower”.

On the contrary, it is of utmost importance to recognize that the soviets, factory committees, and militias that formed the backbone of the Russian revolution were built intentionally by socialists. While different factions in the Russian Social Democratic Workers’ Party eventually split into separate organizations as the Bolsheviks and Mensheviks, both groups were instrumental in the creation of these mass organizations. They did not emerge organically from economic struggles with bosses and feudal landlords like some of the trade unions and peasant associations, but instead were the product of a socialist intervention in economic struggles which emphasized the need for political organization. This strategy, commonly referred to as the “merger formula”, was theorized by Marx and Engels, popularized by the German socialist party leader Karl Kautsky, and accepted by Russian socialists of all stripes (most notably Lenin).1

The Bolsheviks did not merely help workers build their fighting organizations. They also competed with political rivals for leadership in them. Beyond their efforts that we would call “base-building” today, the Bolsheviks also invested significant resources into propaganda efforts and electoral contests. The struggle for elected majorities in the soviets in 1917 was pursued in tandem with a strategy of running campaigns for municipal offices and the Constituent Assembly (the bourgeois parliament of the Provisional Government), and it worked. The Bolshevik candidates for the assembly were able to publicly oppose the policies of the Provisional Government, while the elected deputies in the soviets were able to win over the working class to the task of seizing political power. These electoral efforts were instrumental in establishing a democratic mandate for the October Revolution.2 Consider these words from leading Bolshevik (and later leading opposition member purged by Stalin) Alexander Shliapnikov, in 1920:

The Russian Communist Party (RKP), as the history of the preceding years indicates, is the only revolutionary party of the Working Class, leading class war and civil war in the name of Communism. The R.K.P. unifying the more conscious and decisive part of the Proletariat around the Revolutionary Communist Program of action and drawing to the Communist banner the more leading elements of the rural poor, must concentrate all higher leadership of communist construction and the general direction of policy of the country.

Clearly, the Bolsheviks did not consider themselves a “party of autonomy” working side by side with the Menshevik reformists in a broad “area of the party”. Nor did they simply fuse with organic economic struggles in the trade unions. The reality couldn’t be further from CounterPower’s insinuations: the Bolsheviks were a party of political organizers who started as a minority and slowly won over sections of the working class through diligent mass work and bitter struggle with the other parties of the day. By engaging in this process, they eventually took on a mass character and became capable of leading social revolution. The lesson to learn from the Bolsheviks is this: we must win political hegemony in whatever independent organs of proletarian power that we help build, using every available means, including running opposition candidates in bourgeois elections to expose broader sections of the class to our ideas.

Now we will consider Mao’s echoing of the old Chinese proverb “Let a hundred flowers blossom, let a hundred schools of thought contend.” This line of poetry is used by CounterPower to demonstrate the need for dozens of independent communist grouplets to form and collaborate on the task of social revolution. They attribute the quote to Mao, but is this how he used it? The short answer is no. It comes from a speech he gave in March 1957 at the Chinese Communist Party’s National Conference on Propaganda Work. It is true that he called for a hundred schools of thought to contend, but this was in the context of winning unaligned intellectuals over to the party’s socialist ideals. He gave a thoughtful and nuanced analysis of how the party could accept criticism from the broader population without sacrificing their legitimacy as the ruling organization of the country:

Ours is a great Party, a glorious Party, a correct Party. This must be affirmed as a fact. But we still have shortcomings, and this, too, must be affirmed as a fact…Will it undermine our Party’s prestige if we criticize our own subjectivism, bureaucracy and sectarianism? I think not. On the contrary, it will serve to enhance the Party’s prestige. This was borne out by the rectification movement during the anti-Japanese war. It enhanced the prestige of our Party, of our Party comrades and our veteran cadres, and it also enabled the new cadres to make great progress. Which of the two was afraid of criticism, the Communist Party or the Kuomintang? The Kuomintang. It prohibited criticism, but that did not save it from final defeat. The Communist Party does not fear criticism because we are Marxists, the truth is on our side, and the basic masses, the workers and peasants, are on our side.

Clearly, in March 1957 Mao was concerned with building a mass party, not opening space for a loose collaboration between multiple parties aimed at building socialism. Unfortunately, the Chinese Communist Party was underprepared for the criticism they would soon face and reversed the Hundred Flowers Campaign. By July of that same year, the Anti-Rightist Campaign brought a series of purges underway, which got so out of control that Mao had to restrain his subordinates from excess killing. Perhaps Chinese conditions in 1957 were different enough from American conditions in 2020 that this was acceptable, or perhaps Mao the statesman should not be looked to for inspiration as much as Mao the general or Mao the revolutionary. It is beyond the purview of this article to answer that question. What is certain CounterPower draws the wrong lesson out of Mao’s 1957 speech.

Demonstration from the Hundred Flowers Movement

After quoting Mao, CounterPower moves on to claim that the Iberian Anarchist Federation (FAI) is in practice a party of autonomy working within the “area of the party” of Spain’s National Confederation of Labour (CNT). Although the idea of “parties of autonomy” was not formulated until forty years after FAI’s founding, there may be a kernel of truth to this claim. For example, if FAI formed a loose coalition with CNT organizers and worked with them on shared projects, this argument could make sense. The reality, however, is that FAI is essentially a hard-line anarchist faction within CNT that has consistently fought for political hegemony within the broader organization and even purged ideological rivals like Ángel Pestaña. Perhaps they were right to do so; it is outside the scope of this article to pass judgment on the internal political conflicts of the CNT. 

Despite CounterPower’s framing of the FAI as an independent anarcho-communist organization with an “organic link” to the CNT, they are an explicitly anarchist faction struggling to dominate the politics of the Spanish labor movement. They act as a pressure group within the confederation to make CNT adhere to what they perceive as purely anarchist theory and praxis without deviation. This is not a “symbiotic relationship”, it is realpolitik under a black flag. Roberto Bordiga’s window dressing cannot give us a clear understanding of Spanish labor politics; historians like José Peirats and Paul Preston would be better suited to aid this investigation. 

In the updated version of their essay, CounterPower cites the Alabama chapter of CPUSA as a historical example that serves to “elucidate the role and function of a party of autonomy”. This could not be further from the truth. Similar to the FAI, the party of autonomy model would not even be theorized until fifty years after the Alabama chapter’s founding. CPUSA was a mass party with local chapters all over the country for at least the first half of the twentieth century. The Alabama chapter in particular was the result of discussions on “the Negro question” at the Sixth World Congress of the Communist International, after which the Central Committee of CPUSA chose Birmingham as a headquarters for its foothold in the South.3 Its success in organizing rural and urban communities in the deep south of the 1920s is proof that the mass party model can be adapted to regional conditions and accountable to local rank and file members. Describing this centralized party model as a “party of autonomy” is categorically false.

Spontaneity vs. Base-Building

Now that the historical context of CounterPower’s narrative has been clarified, we should examine the contradiction between their ideological commitment to spontaneity theory on the one hand, and their practical commitment to base-building on the other. Does the working class organically form explicitly political fighting organizations, or is a socialist intervention required for this to occur? This is a never-ending debate between Marxists and anarchists, despite the pile of evidence pointing to the latter. Some would argue that this debate is pointless at the present moment, and these differences are best put aside until the workers’ movement has grown. We would reply: “First, comradely debate in no way hampers unity of action. We can continue base-building efforts while disagreeing on political questions, and it is only through debate that we might one day get on the same page. Second, simply by engaging in the act of base-building with us, you are agreeing with our point in practice while denying it in theory.” How is this possible?

Our comrades in CounterPower are the perfect example. They admit the masses will not come to accept communist ideas on their own:

From strike committees to workers’ councils, tenant unions to neighborhood assemblies, the disparate forms of organized autonomy that arise in the midst of a protracted revolutionary struggle will not automatically fuse with communist politics to create a cohesive system of counterpower.

Yet they don’t address where these councils and unions come from. The reader gets the sense that these organizations simply pop up during times of crisis, as workers get frustrated with bourgeois politics and independently come to the conclusion that they need to organize against their boss or landlord. This may be true in a minority of cases, but most proletarian fighting organizations come from the same source as the Russian soviets: dedicated socialist base-builders. Who built Amazonians United? Who built Autonomous Tenant Union Network? Who built UE, ILWU, and the original CIO? In every case, the answer is: workers and intellectuals who read Marx, became socialists, and decided to organize.

Our responsibilities go beyond just founding these mass organizations; we have to compete for hegemony within them as well. If we neglect this crucial aspect of organizing due to a fetishization of the autonomy of the masses, reformists and even reactionaries will gladly fill the gap. In the case of something like workers’ councils, we cannot have any illusions that they provide anything beyond a means of representation for political tendencies within the movement. This is precisely why the Bolsheviks competed so vigorously with the reformist Mensheviks and populist Social Revolutionaries for elected majorities in the soviets. In fact, the Bolsheviks only adopted their famous slogan “All Power to the Soviets” after they had secured elected majorities in them.4 We only need to look at the difference between the Soviet Republics established in Russia and the brutally crushed Soviet Republic of Bavaria to understand the limitations of the model. Without influence from committed revolutionaries, mass organizations can be rallied to the banner of class-collaboration (as the Russian soviets were before Bolshevik intervention) or adventurism (as in the case of Bavaria).5

CounterPower’s overestimation of proletarian spontaneity has practical consequences for its members. In his recent article In Defense of Revolution and the Insurrectionary Commune, Atlee McFellin analyzed the November 2020 election and drew parallels between it and the situation which produced the Paris Commune. Fearing that elections may never take place again, McFellin argued against any participation in electoral efforts (including, but not limited to the creation of a political party independent from the Democrats). What was proposed instead? “Self-defense forces, solidarity kitchens, and everything else that is required to repel fascist assaults”. In other words, anything but a class-independent party capable of coordinating the struggle for socialism across different political, economic, and social fronts. Rather than face the reality of the radical left’s current irrelevance in national politics and the labor movement, and chart a course to resolve this, comrade McFellin called for the construction of insurrectionary communes as a response to the consolidation of ruling class interests under Joe Biden. Whether the working class has the spontaneous energy necessary for this task remains to be seen;  if it does, we would be ill-advised to hold our breath in anticipation but should wince at the inevitable brutal consequences if such adventurism bears fruit.

While in theory, CounterPower glosses over the role of communists in building workers’ organizations, in practice they are engaged in precisely this work. Rather than relying on the spontaneous initiative of the masses, they actively build tenant and labor unions, political education circles, and other necessary vehicles of class struggle. In fact, they do it remarkably well. This is what makes the claim that communists must “fuse with grassroots organizations” after they appear rather than actively building them in the first place so bizarre. Ultimately, our task as communists is to build mass organizations of class struggle, and then rally the most active participants within them to a mass communist party. By uniting in one party, we can direct the efforts of thousands of organizers according to a commonly agreed upon plan, which is an absolute necessity for the workers’ movement to grow. 

The Role of Cadre

The discussion of cadre organizers is given new attention in CounterPower’s update to their original essay. It mostly focuses on the role these committed party members play in shaping revolutionary strategy and connecting it to active proletarian struggles. As seen in my Cosmonaut article Revolutionary Discipline and Sobriety, those of us who favor the mass party model are in complete agreement with CounterPower on the importance of cadre:

Any collective project, whether a revolutionary labor union or a church’s food pantry, will expect a higher degree of involvement from its core organizers than from its regular members. Not everyone has the time or the technical skills needed to bottom-line such endeavors, and those who do have a responsibility to step up to the plate. These small groups, or cadre, are the powerhouse of the class. Taking direction from the masses they live and labor with, cadre members should focus their lives on facilitating the self-emancipation of the proletariat.

CounterPower rightly points out that these dedicated full-timers are a prerequisite for the development of robust internal political education, external agitation, and consistent recruitment to mass work projects. Key to the every-day functioning of these cadre groups is the organizational center to which they are accountable (and preferably subject to democratic discipline by the whole membership of the organization). While the mass party shares the party of autonomy’s commitment to a common political platform and program, the main difference between the two models is one of scope. Whereas the “area of the party” is composed of diffuse autonomous organizations with separate and often contradictory programs, the local chapters of the mass party work together on a common, democratically agreed-upon plan. As the experience of the Alabama chapter of CPUSA shows, this does not mean the plan cannot be adapted to meet local concerns. 

CPUSA demo in the south

In fact, the mass party model historically proves more capable of achieving its aims than any other method of party organization, whether it is compared to the bourgeois fund-raising parties that dominate US politics or the Italian autonomist model revived by CounterPower. This will be elaborated below in our examination of the Autonomia Operaia movement. For now, suffice it to say that while we agree with our autonomist comrades on the importance of cadre, the mass party model is best suited to coordinate their efforts.

Precision of Terms

Further complicating the problems of CounterPower’s revolutionary strategy is an incoherent collection of opaque and often contradictory terms. Few throughout history have tried to synthesize the theories of the Bolsheviks, Rosa Luxemburg, Bordiga, and Malatesta, mostly because it makes no sense to do so. This blend of anarchist shibboleths (affinity groups, autonomy fetishism, Bookchin references) and communist vocabulary (party cadre, collective discipline, professional revolutionaries) is neither an oversight nor the product of genuine cross-ideological left unity. CounterPower is a Marxist organization with a niche ideology informed mainly by the experience of the Italian Autonomia Operaia movement. The fact that they mask this behind an appeal to every possible leftist tendency is frankly dishonest, and makes their writing difficult to follow. Since all these ideas have been presented to us as complementary and harmonious, we must investigate the contradictions between them in order to get a clearer picture. 

First, we should consider their framing of the ideas of Luxemburg:

In contrast to a bourgeois party, Rosa Luxemburg identified that a revolutionary party of autonomy ‘is not a party that wants to rise to power over the mass of workers or through them.’ Rather, it ‘is only the most conscious, purposeful part of the proletariat, which points the entire broad mass of the working class toward its historical tasks at every step”

The primary issue with this framing is that Rosa Luxemburg did not write or speak about “a revolutionary party of autonomy” at any point in her political career. She was a member of the Social Democratic Party of Germany (SPD) for most of her life before its left-wing split into the USPD and then Spartacist League (later renamed the Communist Party of Germany, or KPD). Both organizations were mass parties who explicitly intended to lead the working class to overthrow the existing political order and form a new proletarian government in Germany, headed by elected party officials. Her point about the party being an instrument that puts the working class in power was perfectly in line with the existing Marxist orthodoxy. Consider this quote from the SPD’s leading theorist Karl Kautsky for comparison:

The socialists no longer have the task of freely inventing a new society but rather uncovering its elements in existing society. No more do they have to bring salvation from its misery to the proletariat from above, but rather they have to support its class struggle through increasing its insight and promoting its economic and political organizations and in so doing bring about as quickly as possible the day when the proletariat will be able to save itself. The task of Social Democracy is to make the class struggle of the proletariat aware of its aim and capable of choosing the best means to attain this aim.6

Luxemburg and Kautsky both demonstrate the function of the mass party: cohering the most militant and forward-thinking section of the working class into one organization and giving it the tools to win political power. If the party is not “outside or above the revolutionary process”, as CounterPower puts it, then it is coming to power through class leadership. “Providing the boldest elements in decision-making organs” is just a milder way of phrasing “winning political hegemony in the movement.” While it is right to be skeptical of potential opportunists and wary of inadvertently creating an unaccountable bureaucracy, CounterPower overcorrects by trying to avoid the question of leadership altogether. No amount of out-of-context quotes from historical revolutionaries can paper over that deficiency. 

After painting an anarchist portrait of Rosa Luxemburg, CounterPower then calls upon the theoretical authority of actual anarchist Errico Malatesta:

We anarchists can all say that we are of the same party, if by the word ‘party’ we mean all who are on the same side, that is, who share the same general aspirations and who, in one way or another, struggle for the same ends against common adversaries and enemies. But this does not mean it is possibleor even desirablefor all of us to be gathered into one specific association. There are too many differences of environment and conditions of struggle; too many possible ways of action to choose among, and also too many differences of temperament and personal incompatibilities for a General Union, if taken seriously, not to become, instead of a means for coordinating and reviewing the efforts of all, an obstacle to individual activity and perhaps also a cause of more bitter internal strife.7

This is a markedly different approach to organization from the mass party model of Kautsky, Luxemburg, Lenin, et al. It is certainly more in line with the autonomists’ “area of the party” theory, but are the assumptions it is based on sound? The experience of the Bolshevik party securing state power and defending the proletariat from white terror, the Communist Party of Vietnam’s triumph over colonialism, the continued resistance to neoliberal imperialism in Cuba, and other achievements of the mass party model seem to indicate otherwise. Petty personal disputes and geographic distance are no excuse to abandon unified efforts to build socialism. If we take a scientific approach and compare the results of party-building trials throughout history to the results of those like Malatesta who deny the party’s role, the pattern is self-evident. 

Lessons of History

CounterPower’s essay does an excellent job of considering the experiences of a vast number of different historical communist groups. Unfortunately, they do so without an ounce of reflection or criticism. They ask us to look at rival groups with opposing political strategies and conclude that both were right, regardless of whether either group actually achieved its aims. They mention the experience of many parties and movementsthe KAPD in Germany, Autonomia Operaia in Italy, the MIR in Chile, the FMLN-FDR in El Salvador, the URNG in Guatemala, the HBDH in Turkey and Kurdistan, and more. We’re given the impression that each of these groups consciously agreed with the autonomists’ many parties model, and that each of these groups were successful enough to teach us mainly positive lessons to emulate. Upon closer inspection, it turns out this is not at all the case. For the sake of brevity, we will look at three examples.

Let us begin with the Communist Workers’ Party of Germany (KAPD). This party could be accurately described as a sect based on its low membership, extreme sectarianism, and history of splits. Its complicated lineage is as followsits members began in the SPD, then split into the ISD, which then joined the USPD, which then split into the KPD, and then finally split from there into the left-communist KAPD. It functionally existed for about two years before splitting again into separate factions. It was quite literally a split of a split of a split that ended up splitting. It had around 43,000 members at its height in 1921, which was minuscule compared to the hundreds of thousands of workers in the mass parties (and that number immediately declined after the factional split in 1922). 

The roots of the KAPD’s separation from the KPD lie in the events of the Ruhr Uprising. In 1920, a right-wing coalition of military officers and monarchists attempted to overthrow the bourgeois-democratic government of Germany. In response, the government called for a general strike, which the workers’ parties heeded. In the Ruhr valley, these parties took the strike a step further by forming Red Army units and engaging right-wing forces in open combat. However, these socialist militias were divided between three different parties and could not coordinate their efforts as well as their enemies who had the benefit of a clear leadership structure. The uprising was ultimately crushed when the bourgeois government made a deal with the right-wing putsch leaders and sent their forces to slaughter the workers of the Ruhr. 

What lessons did the left-communists learn from this? From their perspective, KPD leaders had given up on the struggle by agreeing to disband Red Army units after the fighting looked to be in the enemy’s favor. Because of this, a split was necessary so the workers could be led by the true communist militants that would see things through to the end. In other words, the already divided proletariat needed a fourth party to further complicate the coordination of future actions. Two years later, this fourth party would then split into two factions. Lenin had this to say about the KAPD:

Let the ‘Lefts’ put themselves to a practical test on a national and international scale. Let them try to prepare for (and then implement) the dictatorship of the proletariat, without a rigorously centralised party with iron discipline, without the ability to become masters of every sphere, every branch, and every variety of political and cultural work. Practical experience will soon teach them.8

Unfortunately, Lenin was overly optimistic. Rather than having time to learn from their mistakes, the divided forces of the working class were brutally crushed by the united forces of the right. The Nazis rose to power, and fascism reigned until the Soviets took Berlin in 1945. This does not mean there is nothing we can learn from the KAPDquite the opposite is true. There may be some diamonds in the rough, but most of the lessons we can learn from the left-communists of Germany are examples of what not to do. Fortunately, in the updated version of their essay, CounterPower scrubbed any mention of the KAPD. Whether this was due to a genuine reassessment of their example or simple editorial limitations, the new version is much stronger without the ill-fated German sectarians. 

Despite their positive appraisal of the KAPD, CounterPower is not a left-communist sect. They are autonomists, and in order to understand their answer to the party question we must take stock of their movement forebears. Autonomia Operaia was a workers’ movement in Italy during the period known as the “Years of Lead”. This period lasted from the late 1960s to the late 1980s, and was marked by violent clashes between right and left-wing paramilitary forces. It is worth noting that much of this violence was either planned, supplied, or encouraged by the CIA and its “Operation Gladio”, although that is not relevant to our discussion here. Autonomia Operaia was mainly active from ‘76 to ‘78, and was made up of many smaller socialist groups including Potere Operaio, Gruppo Gramsci, and Lotta Continua. Each group was strongly opposed to unifying into one party, preferring instead to maintain their autonomy and pursue different tactics to work towards their shared goal of social revolution. 

Autonomia Operaia demo

In the end, this worked out in much the same way as it did for the sectarians in Germany decades earlier. Thousands of militants were arrested, hundreds fled the country, many were killed, and most of those who remained dissolved into terrorist groups like the Red Brigades and parliamentary parties like Democrazia Proletaria. Neither the autonomist terrorists nor the autonomist politicians were able to move beyond the failures of the earlier autonomist movement. In retrospect, the autonomists ended up replicating the sect form (albeit with some anarchist-influenced language) and suffered the familiar consequences of this organizing technique. It is worth noting that after misappropriating numerous mass parties (the Alabama chapter of CPUSA, the Bolsheviks, Rosa Luxemburg’s KPD) as successful examples of the “parties of autonomy” model, CounterPower leaves out any mention of Autonomia Operaia in the updated version of its essay. This is somewhat understandable as the movement collapsed within two years and failed to achieve its aims, but it is still dishonest. If failures are glossed over rather than rigorously examined, we are doomed to walk blindly into past mistakes. In this regard, CounterPower’s update to their essay does more to obfuscate the party question than answer it.

That said, Autonomia Operaia activists had valid criticisms of the Communist Party of Italy and could have created an alternative to lead the proletariat to victory. This is the positive lesson we can learn from them: when the “official” communist party of the nation abandons its principles, it can sometimes be worthwhile to build an alternative organization. However, they chose instead to create a loose collective of semi-aligned communist clusters which failed to coordinate their actions and create meaningful change. Had they taken on the arduous task of debating long-term strategy and forging programmatic unity, things may have turned out differently. This is the primary lesson we should learn from the Italian autonomists: a proletarian victory requires structure, democratic discipline, and unity of action. 

Although not directly influenced by Autonomia’s answer to the party question, the FMLN-FDR of El Salvador could be theorized as an example of an “area of the party”. As CounterPower pointed out in their essay, this network was composed of five revolutionary parties and a number of mass organizations and civil society institutions who worked together in loose cooperation towards revolution. It ultimately failed, and CounterPower makes two interesting claims about its dissolution: that the failure was due primarily to the popular front reformism of the PCS (one of the five member parties) and that its downfall does not tarnish its status as a positive example of the area of the party in action. These claims do not fare well under the spotlight of historical scrutiny, particularly when shined on the brutal internecine violence that destroyed any semblance of unity within the movement by 1983. 

CounterPower’s assessment of the FMLN identifies the PCS (Communist Party of El Salvador) as the weakest link in the chain, and the FPL (Farabundo Martí Liberation People’s Forces) as the strongest. In many ways, this is true, as the popular front strategy of the official communist parties has consistently ended in disaster the world over and the FPL was the most powerful and trusted party in El Salvador for a time. However, this is not the whole picture. Genuine political disagreements were often buried or papered over to maintain an artificial unity, and the ensuing tension was bound to boil over. While our autonomist comrades say the FMLN established a harmonious “mechanism of communication, coordination, and cooperation among the various politico-military organizations”, the reality is far grimmer. In its disagreement with other parties advocating negotiations with the Salvadoran government, the FPL resorted to gruesome assassinations to enforce its will on the rest of the FMLN. In April of 1983, FPL cadre Rogelio Bazzaglia murdered pro-negotiation leader Ana Maria with an ice pick, stabbing her 83 times. Although there was an attempt to blame the CIA or another party within FMLN, when presented concrete evidence of Bazzaglia’s guilt, FPL leader Salvador Cayetano Carpio promptly wrote a suicide note and shot himself in the head. With its most trusted leaders either disgraced, dead, or both, the FMLN lost steam after many members left the network in disgust. Along with this exodus of valuable cadre went all the legitimacy of the anti-negotiation faction, and so by 1989 even successful military offensives could do nothing more than bring the Salvadoran government to the negotiation table.9 The revolutionary potential of the FMLN died with Ana Maria, and her murder demonstrates how the “area of the party” approach only ends up recreating the problems of the sect form.

The Marxist Center

The US communist movement is essentially home to three different camps regarding the party question. Those who wish to see the movement divided into bureaucratic sects (with the belief that their particular sect is the One True Party) are on the right. Those who wish to see the movement divided into loosely aligned autonomist sects (with the beliefs outlined in CounterPower’s writing) are on the left. Those of us in the center are advocating a qualitative break with the sect form: the foundation of a mass party of organizers. This idea is often associated with a number of inaccurate claimsfor instance, we are frequently lumped in with those who wish to replicate the worst aspects of the DSA model, where anyone can join the organization at any time for any reason without even committing to Marxist politics. We are also often accused of wanting to create a dogmatic bureaucracy of staunch Marxist-Leninists who will run the party as they see fit without input from membership. Neither of these claims are true.

In fact, what we desire is a party made and run by the masses themselves. Years of labor-intensive organizing will be necessary to make this happen, as the masses cannot be reached and welcomed into the socialist movement any other way. Tenant and workplace unions, unemployed councils, harm reduction efforts, solidarity networks, and other forms of “mass organizations” (in addition to independent electoral efforts) must be formed and rallied around a common political pole. In order for this pole to exist in the first place, the organizers engaged in mass work must debate and discuss until they articulate and agree on a comprehensive political program. In order for these debates and discussions to produce a clear program, the organizers have to see themselves as part of a common organization aimed at a shared goal. When each of these elements fall into place, something completely unique to the US left will be born: a mass party committed to praxis, programmatic unity, and democratic discipline.

By praxis, we understand a long-term commitment to building, growing, and maintaining the kinds of mass organizations detailed above. By programmatic unity, we mean collective acceptance of a comprehensive set of answers to long-term strategic questions, forged in an extended process of comradely debate and compromise. Ideally, this would take the form of a minimum-maximum program like those laid out and critiqued by Marx, Engels, and others in the first two Internationals.10 The minimum demands are structural reforms that communicate to the working class exactly how our efforts will improve their lives and empower them at the political level. Demands like guaranteed healthcare and housing, eliminating the Electoral College, Senate, and Supreme Court, disbanding the police and forming workers’ militias, ensuring union representation, and more would bring supporters into the fold and give us access to valuable comrades and organizers. They are chosen in such a way that when every demand is met, the proletariat has seized political power from the bourgeoisie and becomes the governing class of society. 

With this done, the new workers’ government can focus on fulfilling the maximum demands, epitomized as communism, which would eradicate the last vestiges of capitalism and transition to a socialist mode of production. Establishing unity on long-term questions of strategy is far superior to enforcing a “party-line” on day-to-day issues and theoretical minutiae. It allows us to collaborate and exert the greatest possible combined strength of the working class in its diverse struggles without splitting over short-term tactical disagreements like “should we partner with this NGO on this tenant organizing project?” or subcultural arguments like “who was in the wrong at Kronstadt?” It also does not require agreement on “tendency” labels (such as Marxist-Leninist, anarchist, left-communist, etc). As our organizations grow, the need for a commonly accepted program will only increase. Finally, by democratic discipline, we refer to the old axiom “diversity of opinion, unity of action”.

These three principles are absolutely essential for the functioning of an effective and battle-ready proletarian party. As we have seen, the organizational forms of sectarians and autonomists (like the KAPD and Autonomia Operaia respectively) crumble under pressure whereas mass parties regularly weather brutal repression. No better example of this can be found in US history than that of the Alabama chapter of the CPUSA:

The fact is, the CP and its auxiliaries in Alabama did have a considerable following, some of whom devoured Marxist literature and dreamed of a socialist world. But to be a Communist, an ILD member, or an SCU militant was to face the possibility of imprisonment, beatings, kidnapping, and even death. And yet the Party survived, and at times thrived, in this thoroughly racist, racially divided, and repressive social world.11

While other cases of this phenomenon (the Russian Communist Party, the Chinese Communist Party, and others) have been historically prone to corruption, preventative measures can be taken to ensure the party retains its mass character even after smashing the state and beginning socialist reconstruction. The most immediate step in this process is the collaborative drafting of and universal agreement on a party-wide Code of Conduct. This will facilitate the development of a comradely culture that balances rigorous critique and debate with an environment of pluralism and interpersonal care. In addition to understanding how to have a one-on-one organizing conversation, we should also strive to be well-versed in skills like listening, openly sharing feelings, assuming good faith in arguments, making sincere apologies, and offering support to comrades struggling with personal issues. None of these can be learned by accident in the alienated social spaces created by capitalism, so we must make a deliberate effort to establish these norms in our organization. 

Another would be taking seriously the moral dimensions of Fidelismo’s contribution to Marxism. In stark contrast with both Stalin’s iron fist and Allende’s naive pacifism, Fidel Castro’s leadership of the Cuban revolution combined violent insurrection against the state with peaceful political maneuvering in the revolutionary movement. Over the course of protracted struggle on both fronts, the July 26th Movement was able to defeat the state militarily and construct a democratic mandate for political hegemony. Because Fidel and his comrades took the ethical implications of revolutionary struggle seriously, they were able to achieve victory without recourse to war crimes against the enemy or lethal violence against political competitors within the movement.12 This commitment to moral conduct during violent struggle did not stop them from winning the war. In fact, it allowed them to win the peace. This strategy allowed Cuba to begin building socialism after national liberation without the deadly internecine conflicts that plagued other revolutionary movements (notably including the FMLN). It is crucial that we embrace this legacy by constructing an ethic of revolution for our time. More steps beyond these will of course be necessary, and their exact nature will become clear as we work towards the realization of a comradely culture together.

Perhaps the strongest indicator of the need for a mass party is the fact that the most advanced sections of the US labor movement are already calling for the establishment of a workers’ party. In its recent pamphlet Them and Us Unionism, United Electrical, Radio and Machine Workers of America (UE) wrote:

Throughout our history, UE has held that workers need our own political party. In the 1990s, UE worked with a number of other unions to found the Labor Party, under the slogan ‘The Bosses Have Two Parties, We Need One of Our Own.’ Although the Labor Party experiment was ultimately unsuccessful, UE members and locals have been active in numerous other efforts to promote independent, pro-worker alternatives to the two major parties.13

Other labor unions like ILWU and the Teamsters have produced leading organizers who share UE’s commitment to independent worker politics. People like Clarence Thomas, who helped organize the Juneteenth port shutdown on the West Coast earlier this year in solidarity with the George Floyd uprising, Chris Silvera, who chairs the National Black Caucus in the Teamsters, and many more can be found among them. These influential voices of the labor movement have united in Labor and Community for an Independent Party, stating:

We must build democratically run coalitions that bring together the stakeholders in labor and the communities of the oppressed, so that they have a decisive say in formulating their demands and mapping out a strategy. Most important, we need to put an end to the monopoly of political power by the Democrats and Republicans. The labor movement and the leaders of the Latino and Black struggles need to break with their reliance on the Democratic Party and build their own mass-based independent working-class political party.

While it is certainly possible that these efforts could lead to the establishment of a reformist labor party, it is precisely this possibility that behooves us to get involved. Any union that recognizes the need for independent proletarian political action outside the shop floor can be considered “advanced” compared to business unions aligned with the Democratic Party, and relationships with them should be built as part of a communist intervention in the labor movement. As Marxists, we have a duty not only to organize our class but to bring theoretical clarity to its most active champions. If we continue building strong proletarian fighting organizations and elaborate our vision in a comprehensive program, we will be positioned to guide labor and community leaders of all stripes to the creation of a truly communist political party.

Ultimately, the disparate sects within Marxist Center and the local chapters of the DSA must form tighter bonds and consider internal reforms that would allow us to build the party our class requires. In doing so, we should seek to unite as many far-flung collectives and mass work projects as we can in order to become a true threat to bourgeois hegemony. While staying divided in a loose federation may seem like a viable model to some, history shows that it is not. The autonomists and anarchists in our ranks are dedicated organizers doing valuable work, and we should be grateful for that. However, we would be doing ourselves and them a disservice if we did not offer a comradely critique of their organizational models. 

Communists will always find strength in unity.

Disarming the Magic Bullet

Renato Flores responds to Cam W’s argument for Maoism and the mass line. 

Global warming is progressing. Millions are going hungry and do not know whether they can make the next rent payment. The houseless crisis is intensifying. We know we cannot just stand by, and we have to do something. But how do we do something, how do we slay the monster? How do we become free? It is not going to be easy. Everyone has ideas, some more or less thought out than others. What is clear is that we need a plan, and we need one fast, or the monster will devour us all.

In Cosmonaut, we wish to have an open forum for debate, where these ideas can be shared and discussed. Three contributions have been published, with responses, counter-responses and synthesis. This piece is meant as a (short) reply to Cam’s intervention on the debates around the party form started by Taylor B’s piece “Beginnings of Politics” and Donald Parkinson’s piece “Without a party we have nothing”. Cam’s intervention is heavily influenced by, and largely follows Joshua Moufawad-Paul’s (JMP) ideas on how Maoism has been historically defined, what problems it is responding to, and how it must be applied today. Cam’s main thesis is that Maoism, being the only ideology that has correctly absorbed the knowledge produced by the learning process of the Paris Commune and the Russian and Chinese revolutions is uniquely poised to provide an answer to the problem of the party. And that answer comes in the shape of the mass line, which is “a mechanism to transform the nature of the party into a revolutionary mass organization which can resist the neutralizing force of the party-form”.

I take issue with this last statement, and that is what I will try to elaborate on in this article. I start by agreeing with Cam that we must emphasize the points of both continuity and rupture of our revolutionary process. But I diverge from him in seeing the evolution of Marxism as something much more complicated than the picture drawn by JMP. Indeed, in 2020, the experiences of revolutionaries both in overthrowing the old state and in running a new revolutionary state can fill entire libraries. We know much more about what to do, and especially what not to do, than we did in Marx’s time. However, the process through which knowledge has been accumulated and synthesized cannot be reduced to a single path of advancement of the “science of revolution”. By doing this, we risk ossifying slogans, and allowing spontaneity to fill in the gaps, harming our organizing. The picture painted by Cam, which is inherited from JMP, suffers from the same problems Donald is replying to in his piece: a simple periodization is being imposed into a complex process of knowledge production. This periodization is then used to make a dubious point, namely that through an event a lesson was learned that marks the death of a paradigm and the birth of a new one. Everyone stuck in the previous paradigm is at best naive and at worst, unscientific. This is an extremely loaded word that produces a hierarchy of power: my theory is more powerful than yours because it is scientific. No burden of proof is necessary, because I am being scientific and you are not. I have successfully absorbed the lessons of history while you haven’t.

To begin to deconstruct the claim that Maoism is the highest paradigm of revolutionary science, we have to understand that one of the axioms on which it stands is flawed, namely that progress is linear and happens through a single path. Biology and evolution provide a practical counter-example. In a very simplified manner1, organisms face a problem, the environment, and try to find a solution through adaptation. Faced with similar environments, organisms will find similar solutions, even when they are in geographic isolation.2 This is called convergent evolution, and there are many examples in Nature. Bats and whales both evolved the ability to locate prey by echos as an adaptation to finding food in dark environments. Wings have been evolved by pterosauruses, birds and mammals separately. Silk production appeared separately in spiders, silkworms and silk moths. In a similar manner, some characteristics can be devolved. For example, some species of birds have lost the ability to fly after having gained it. It is not correct to view organisms as more evolved, as if evolution was something that accumulates.

In the same manner, progress in all branches of science is far from neat and linear. Geniuses have been forgotten or dismissed for centuries just to be rediscovered. Dead ends are often reached which require looking back into the past to reinvigorate theories that were previously thought dead. More importantly, co-discoveries happen, and happen often. Wallace and Darwin both came to the theory of evolution. Newton and Leibniz both developed calculus. In both of these cases, the co-inventors were resting on similar theoretical knowledge and facing similar questions. It is therefore unsurprising that they would come to the same solution. Even more, scientists working within very different paradigms, say like Mach and Boltzmann, were both able to contribute immensely to the field of physics despite working from vastly distinct starting points. 

Going back to the revolutionary movement, our theory and our practice have been developed to surpass obstacles in our liberation. Even if these obstacles are not identical, they have been very similar. In the same manner as biological evolution, the science of revolution develops very similar solutions to address the problems revolutionaries face. We should expect that similar ideas will arise from similar contexts, a convergent evolution of tactics. From experience, the more scientists independently arrive at the same conclusion, the more likely that this conclusion is correct. In this context, Donald is correct to emphasize Lenin’s unoriginality. Like scientists, practitioners of revolutionary politics are faced with questions that they must answer, both before, during, and after seizing power. They learn from each other, and try to apply the common mindset to their local conditions. 

If one revolutionary movement progresses and breaks new ground in the process to establish socialism, changes in the environment give rise to new problems that were previously not recognized. They might have seized power, but what now? As the Bolsheviks repeatedly pointed out, they thought building socialism was going to be easier than it actually was. Before the Russian revolution, Hilferding had stated that it would be enough to seize the ten largest banks to get to socialism. Hilferding, among others, believed that this was the great mistake of the Paris Commune, and if revolutionaries had just seized these banks, they would have been able to build a socialist system. But as we know, that was far from enough for the Bolsheviks. They did this, and much more. They were forced to continuously experiment, finding ways that could lead to socialism without losing the support of the peasants and workers. The lessons from Leninism cannot be simply reduced to the necessity of smashing the state: they are much more extensive and valuable than this.

In the same vein, the Chinese Revolution was a gigantic experiment in emancipation that involved old and new questions, with old and new methods to answer them. And Mao diverged from Lenin in many aspects. Mao’s theory of change outlined in “On Contradiction” is quite different from Lenin’s understanding of dialectics. The Maoist theory of New Democracy also diverges from Lenin’s ideas of how a revolution should proceed. It is hard to answer if they are improvements or regressions. It is probably better to say that the Marxist canon was enriched by both thinkers. 

Another example of returning to the Marxist canon and reevaluating or rediscovering old hypotheses can be seen in Kautsky, Lenin, Kwame Nkrumah’s theories of Imperialism. In his celebrated Imperialism, Lenin (rightfully) told Kautsky that the world was not heading towards an ultra-imperialist system where different imperial powers share the world peacefully—instead he argued that imperialist conflict was on the table. Indeed, Lenin was correct in that conjecture. World War I and World War II were both driven mainly by inter-imperial conflict.3 But after WW2, their differences would be sublated. A single capitalist superpower was able to set the rules on how the spoils would be divided. Nkrumah captured this in his Neo-Colonialism, basically rediscovering parts of Kautsky’s thesis and adapting them to the present. In this case, an exhausted paradigm was resurrected after significant adaptations were made.

You can see where I am going: it is impossible to lay out a simple evolution of knowledge for Marxism, with clean breaks from one another where knowledge only really had three leaps.  Mao was correct in saying that socialism or communism was not permanent in the USSR and that a reversion to capitalism could happen, but he was surely not the only one to note the problems of socialist construction in the USSR. Revolutionary experience has been accumulated, and it has, for better or worse, been synthesized by revolutionaries. There are points where synthesizers like Lenin or Mao have made key contributions that have left a permanent imprint. Lenin was able to stabilize a revolutionary state, which allowed further problems of socialist construction to be posed. Mao was able to mobilize the masses against a stagnating party, which opened the problem of how to deal with class interests inside the party, and how to open a public sphere in a socialist state. Rather than having done science, it is probably better to think of them as having set up the stage for the further development of scientific socialism. 

Whether Lenin and Mao were scientists or whether they set the stage for new science is a pedantic point— the important point is that periodizations of revolutionary science are not just meant to convey this, they are often used as discourses of power. When Stalin wrote “Foundations of Leninism”, “Trotskyism or Leninism”, or even the Short Course, he was not only trying to synthesize the knowledge gained from the construction of socialism in the USSR and set a roadmap for the future. It was an operation through which he declared himself to be the one true heir of Lenin and excluded others such as Trotsky or Bukharin. When the Indian Maoist Ajith wrote “Against Avakianism”, he was attempting to exclude Bob Avakian’s Revolutionary Communist Party from the mantle of Maoism. In the same way, JMP’s periodization is an attempt to claim for Maoism the mantle of the one science of revolution and exclude other Marxists from possibly contributing to this. But his claim ignores the complexity of knowledge development, something we have been addressing in this piece. Furthermore, even if one takes this periodization at its word, and we take Maoism to be a third synthesis, JMP’s periodization is not the only one in attempting to explain Mao’s epistemological breaks. Marxist-Leninists-Maoists—principally Maoists—who claim the legacy of the relatively successful Peruvian Shining Path, center Gonzalo’s theoretical contributions around People’s War in defining Maoism, rather than recognizing the Revolutionary International Movement (of which SP was a [critical] part) as the principal synthesizer of Maoism.4 

More importantly, why is Maoism the only ideology that can claim to have absorbed the knowledge from revolutionary history? In terms of seizing power, or battling the state to a standstill, what have the Indian Naxalites achieved that has not been achieved by others, as for example by the Zapatistas who started from different premises5 yet face similar material conditions of indigenous dispossession? Are the Zapatistas somehow less scientific than the Naxalites? Or are they responding to different pressures of dependent capitalism in countries with backgrounds of settler-colonialism and casteism?6 Is there really nothing the titanic struggle of the African National Congress against apartheid can teach us, when the pitiful state of the ANC reminds us of how the Maoist revolution in Nepal has become increasingly coopted? What about the many other names of the long list of Latin American or African revolutionaries such as Amilcar Cabral or Paulo Freire, that are written out of this evolution? The successes and failures of the Arusha Declaration and Ujamaa or the Yugoslav experiment in self-management provide way more data points that enrich our knowledge, going way beyond the MLM straight line periodization that only really joins three points and attempts to exclude everyone else. In this spirit, it is worth noting that geographically diverse groups such as Matzpen in Israel and Race Traitor in the United States independently developed very similar ideas on what it means to be a race traitor, and how settler-colonialism and white privilege work to stabilize society. 

Two-line struggles and “bourgeois” ideology

A periodization of history must be accompanied with explanations for the choices taken to divide one epoch from another. These divisions are usually used to give primacy to a political event or concept, after which one theory was proven absolutely correct and the other false. In the case of Taylor’s piece, he follows Badiou by stating that the Cultural Revolution showed that the party-form was an exhausted concept and brought forward the idea that new forms of organization must supplant it. In the case of Cam, who follows JMP’s periodization of MLM, the cultural revolution brings to the forefront the importance of the ‘two-line’ struggle and the mass line. Essentially, Mao reached a breakthrough realization: the ideological struggle between proletariat and bourgeoisie continued in socialism, and (a part of it) happened within the Communist party in the shape of a line-struggle. Stalin was wrong to declare that the USSR had achieved communism, and that this process could not be reversed. Indeed, capitalist roaders inside the party could reverse it and we have to struggle against them, and with the masses. A party which is properly embedded in the masses can successfully struggle against those who would reverse the revolution. And this is why Mao called for the Cultural Revolution: to rebuild those links between party and masses, and to battle the propagation of capitalist ideas in the party. 

This framework is very appealing. It explains the restoration of capitalism in the USSR and China: the bourgeois wing of the party gained power because it was never defeated, despite the Cultural Revolution. It offers a simple and comforting answer to the question of socialist construction: just struggle hard enough against the capitalist roaders. It sounds a lot like a Manichean struggle for the world, and is especially well suited to an American mindset which is based on binaries. But while there definitely are undesirable elements within all Communist parties (just think of Yeltsin or Milosevic) the two-line struggle is a gross simplification that collapses all of the problems of revolutionary science into something that looks a lot like a magic trick: the masses will redeem us if we struggle with them. The whole problem of societal management, both politically and economically (which usually go together) is not a struggle between good and evil. It is the problem of how to control a totality, which risks becoming dysfunctional at places where faults happen, be it either improperly balanced alliances between classes such as the peasantry and the proletarians, existing monopolies on resources like technical skills, or sites of power which reproduce antisocial ideology. Mao was correct to identify some problems as originating from capitalist values and beliefs, which originate and are replicated from the existing conditions and require a cultural revolution to solve. But all of these problems cannot be all cast as bourgeois or capitalist, even if their sources come from constructing socialism on top of a capitalist society.7 By taking this simplification we risk allowing spontaneity to creep in in all places and hoping that high spirits will solve things for us.

 

There is an in-jest comment that asks: tell me which year you think the Russian Revolution was defeated and I will tell you which tendency you belong to. Was it with War Communism? Kronstadt? The disempowering of the Soviets? The retreats of NEP? Rapid and often brutal collectivization? The purges that destroyed the Old Bolsheviks? Kruschev’s or Kosygin’s reforms? Were Gorbachov’s efforts doomed already or did he make serious blunders along the way? Worse even, did he sell the USSR out for a slice of Pizza? The bitter truth is there is no simple answer to when the USSR was defeated. There was a long list of decisions that strengthened some groups while weakening others, eroded the revolution’s mass base of support, slowly created alienated groups of people who felt displaced from power, and eventually created a stagnated, even ossified, society. No longer able to progress toward socialism, it disintegrated under pressure. Until we digest that tough conclusion we risk searching for magic bullets to solve all our problems. 

Seeking redemption through the masses is just one more illusion from a suitcase of quixotic tricks meant to bring us to socialism. Even if it is pointing at a real problem8, the solution is little more than a slogan. The careful and difficult balancing act of institutional design meant to construct a system that would, among many things, grant political freedom as to everyone, abolish permanent managerial roles by ensuring that “every cook can govern”, and eliminate existing oppressive systems carried over from capitalism, is reduced to making sure the proletarian line is upheld by “going to the masses”. This confuses tactic and strategy, and allows ossification and spontaneity to creep into  all the missing spaces. Think about it for a minute. Some problems are easier to solve than others: if a local administrator is behaving badly and abusing their powers, we should discipline them through re-education or even removal. But what if they’re the only one in town that can actually run the irrigation systems? If they’re removed agricultural output will underperform or fail. If this administrator is reinstated, the masses, who are our ultimate allies, will feel betrayed. They didn’t fight a revolution for this. The administrator could feel justified in their privileges and try to go even further in their pursuit of even more privileges and power. But if they aren’t reinstated, the masses might go hungry due to crop failures, or freeze in the winter. Either way, they will be frustrated with the party. 

These sorts of dilemmas around specialists and local administrators were a repeated problem in many societies attempting socialist construction, including the USSR and Maoist China. Mao sought a solution through the mass mobilization of the Cultural Revolution. The first stage dispersed the agglomeration of specialists in the city by sending them to the countryside. This was meant to break their privileges and urban strongholds, and (re)rally the support of the peasants for the revolution. The declassed specialists would then participate in the second and protracted struggle of breaking the monopolies on knowledge by educating the peasantry and opening rural schools. By ensuring that the peasants were able to administer their own affairs as a collective, they would not be beholden to a single, and potentially corrupt, expert. Mao’s solution was implemented at a scale never seen before, especially in a country of China’s size and its deep city-countryside divide., But Mao wasn’t the only one to come up with this sort of solution to the specialist problem: Che Guevara tried to enforce a smaller-scale cultural revolution in Cuba to persuade managers and specialists to throw in their lot with the revolution. Other revolutions came up with their own solutions: the Yugoslavs had a persistent problem with managers monopolizing knowledge and tried to solve it through factory schools and deepening education—without forcing existing specialists to undergo a cultural revolution. This did not end well.

Another more complicated problem was faced by the USSR repeatedly during its history: what happens when the lack of proper food procurement to the cities forces the party to choose between extracting food by force from the peasantry or making significant concessions to it, either through paying higher prices or devoting higher investments. Which of these solutions is ‘proletarian’? The USSR was forced to constantly oscillate between disciplining the peasants by force and granting them concessions because it could not solely rely on the stick or the carrot. Neither of these can be labeled more ‘proletarian’ than the other. Especially when contrasted with alternatives not taken, which can be regarded as capitalist, such as the full liberalization of rural China in the Deng era.  

With this short digression, I hope to have laid out an important point: the working of a society is the working of a complex totality, where relations can become dysfunctional, threatening the whole. It is not (just) a matter of conducting line-struggles between “proletarian” and “bourgeois” lines. It is a matter of sitting down and diagnosing the system, understanding where the dysfunctions are, what groups they are serving or harming, and how the socialist construction can proceed by removing these dysfunctions. Politics is not a Manichean struggle. It is somewhere between a science and an art of organization. Compromises must be made, and we must constantly be asking how the power relationships in society will change if we are to undergo these changes. 

The successive educational policies of the USSR in the 1920s, meant to both democratize knowledge and improve production, ended up empowering a new class of “red specialists” who would control the party 30 years later. The Yugoslav experiment tried to disempower the federal state and empower factory councils to devolve power to the workers, but ended up empowering factory managers and creating a comprador class that would trigger a Civil War. The agricultural reforms enacted by the Great Leap Forward meant to increase food production but ended up causing a food crisis. The type of historical analysis we need is a tough one, but being honest results in a better framing of things which goes beyond simply good and bad lines, and higher or lower scientific tendencies, or who betrayed what revolution. 

Beyond the mass line: deciding how and where to struggle

The same framework, with some caveats, can be applied to formulate the principles of a revolutionary party. The party inserts itself in a capitalist society while simultaneously attempting to destabilize the capitalist totality and replace it with a new totality. 

How do we begin to construct such an organism? Cam’s suggested plan of action is taken from JMP’s book Continuity and Rupture:

The participants in a revolutionary movement begin with a revolutionary theory, taken from the history of Marxism, that they plan to take to the masses. If they succeed in taking this theory to the masses, then they emerge from these masses transformed, pulling in their wake new cadre that will teach both them and their movement something more about revolution, and demonstrating that the moment of from is far more significant than the moment of to because it is the mechanism that permits the recognition of a revolutionary politics.  

This poses several questions and problems, but the main thing is that we begin with participants in a revolutionary movement who are armed with theory that they take to the masses. 

The first critique of this position is that the party is seen as some sort of external agent, formed by intellectuals, who have acquired knowledge and will bring it to the masses. It sets the party aside, as the unique interpreter of Marxism, and the object through which the people’s demands are translated to communist ones. It hopes that with the bringing of theory to the masses, the party will transform itself. We can contrast this approach to the merger theory. In 1903, Kautsky wrote:

In addition to this antagonism between the intellectual and the proletarian in sentiment, there is yet another antagonism. The intellectual, armed with the general education of our time, conceives himself as very superior to the proletarian. Even Engels writes of the scholarly mystification with which he approached workers in his youth. The intellectual finds it very easy to overlook in the proletarian his equal as a fellow fighter, at whose side in the combat he must take his place. Instead he sees in the proletarian the latter’s low level of intellectual development, which it is the intellectual’s task to raise. He sees in the worker not a comrade but a pupil. The intellectual clings to Lassalle’s aphorism on the bond between science and the proletariat, a bond which will raise society to a higher plane. As advocate of science, the intellectuals come to the workers not in order to co-operate with them as comrades, but as an especially friendly external force in society, offering them aid.

The difference between these two conceptions is that the first pays little to no attention to the self-organization of the masses and the ways they are already resisting capitalism. It asks us to go to the masses, without specifying which masses and how to talk to them. The second conception is that of the merger, where the intellectuals come to co-operate with the workers and see them as comrades, inserting themselves into existing struggles and amplifying them. 

This difference is especially critical because it explains the way in which Maoists in the United States fill in their lack of clear tactics and strategy with spontaneity, leaving them lacking a clear plan, something they are slowly coming to realize. “Go to the masses” is left as a magic bullet. This raises the second problem: the identification of the “masses”. Cam suggests we start by “serving and interacting with the people”. A detailed study of the conditions of the people is a prerequisite of any revolutionary movement; just ask Lenin or Mao, but as with JMP, Cam grazes over the question of who the masses are that we are supposed to be interacting with in the United States. This is a question worth some reflecting on: the US is a unique creature in the history of the world. It is an advanced imperialist country, which leads to comparisons with Western Europe, but is also a settler-colonial society scaffolded by whiteness. It has a significant labor aristocracy who have much more to lose than their chains, and also has a significant surplus population that is easily replaceable and has little power to stop the monster.

Which groups are going to lead the revolution and which groups are expected to follow? How will hegemony over these groups be won? Essentially, who is the revolutionary subject in the United States? Who will bell the cat? Without making this explicit we run the risk of fetishizing the most oppressed subjects who unfortunately do not have the power to change the system. 

It is important to remember that Marx located the revolutionary subject in the proletariat because (1) he studied the workers’ self-organization, how they had the power to stop accumulation if they wanted to, and what they were capable of achieving under adequate leadership and structure, and (2) the proletariat had less to lose from overthrowing the system because it possessed nothing. It could only lose their chains. But as we well know, the proletariat in the centers of capitalism failed to revolt. The Paris Commune, which so enthralled Marx, would move East, and the working class of the capitalist centers was pacified at best, or at worst enlisted in imperial or fascistic projects. 

The cat would not be belled because some mice were getting good spoils. Starting with Lenin, there have been plenty of attempts to rationalize why there were no more large-scale revolts, like the Paris Commune, in the centers of capitalism. The labor aristocracy, understood as those who have more to lose than their chains, did not live up to Marx’s tasks. And if they are not willing to revolt and pick up the sword, who will then finish the job? This question is especially pressing in the United States, where capitalism is strongly racialized and where poor whites have been used to stabilize settler-colonialism for centuries. This is where the question of “who are the revolutionary masses” appears. Spontaneity fills in when the prescriptions are vague, which is why so many “mass line” organizations fall into a pattern of providing service aid, in the form of food or legal means, to the most oppressed in hope of activating them for the struggle. I do not wish to repeat a full critique of mutual aid that was already done in an excellent manner by Gus Breslauer. The two basic points are: people do mutual aid because it’s easy and makes us feel good, but in the end what we are doing is redistributing the labor fund and not threatening the state or the bosses in the process. Even if mutual aid can sometimes create useful auxiliaries, such as unemployed committees, they often cannot substitute for the main event. They also require massive amounts of energy and fund expenditures to keep alive, energy which could be spent more efficiently in amplifying existing struggles. We run the risk of burning resources and ourselves in doing something that does not center class struggle and is of minor use in fighting against the capitalist system. 

It is important to locate this new fetish with mutual aid not only in the realization that people are suffering immensely but also in the failure of locating a revolutionary subject willing to fight to the bitter end. Mutual aid attempts to activate the most oppressed layers in the United States, but Marx’s other principle still holds: look for subjects that have the power to change society, rather than just the most oppressed. We should be looking at the sites of class struggle that are actually happening in today’s world and how these can be amplified to throw the capitalist totality into disarray. For this, we could start by reading studies of material conditions, such as Hunsinger & Eisenberg’s Mask Off, in great detail. An important place of struggle in the US right now are the struggles around social reproduction, specifically those around housing, childcare, and healthcare. Teachers’ and nurses’ unions, as well as the tenants movement, are in the front lines of struggle, and they are hurting capitalists because they are breaking into the capitalist totality in a way food distribution among the houseless is not.9 

For some people, the natural starting place might be their union, especially if it is an active and fighting one. But for those who do not have that option, focusing on the tenants union movement allows us to connect to pre-existing struggles in the masses, amplify them, and understand their conditions in a very different way than food distribution does. Tenant unionism also provides us with targets that are actually defeatable, such as a local slumlord, which motivates our members, gives us publicity, and allows our organization to grow while further embedding it in the struggle. Other and larger targets can be tempting, but these are often heroic feats. The fight against Amazon, led by Amazonians United and other unions, is fighting an enemy at a scale much larger than what the proletariat is capable of organizing against right now. Their fight will be an extremely tough one, as the working class in the US (or even internationally) is still in a state of learning. Victories can be quickly stolen from us. For example, German workers defeated Amazon in Germany, so Amazon simply moved across the border to the Czech Republic, continuing distribution in Germany while avoiding their laws.

Conclusion

As mentioned in the introduction, we are in a seriously demoralizing moment. There is a rapidly changing conjuncture, where the pandemic and climate change fill us with urgency but make organizing hard due to increasingly scarce resources. We want to do something that is effective and brings liberation fast, but we are faced with the weight of the failures of the socialist movement, be it revolutionary or reformist. We want answers on how to do this and are attracted to things that do not sound that dissimilar to what we already know, or the ways in which our brains are programmed. 

JMP’s style of Maoism is particularly well suited to the American mind. It provides relatively easy answers and provides enough silences that we can choose to interpret in ways that are not dissonant with our previous mindset. JMP also borrows plenty of epistemological concepts from American Pragmatist philosophy10, such as how truth is evaluated through practice, which makes it even more amenable to the underlying concept of science already present in US society. JMP writes well and clearly and is very articulate in his interviews. Because of this, it is not strange to see him becoming increasingly popular for a younger generation searching for these quick answers on what to do. This Maoism can also claim the mantle of the few revolutionary movements which are still vibrant today: the Philippines and India, which gives us something hopeful to root for internationally— something not as stale as defending an increasingly capitalist China.

However, to develop a proper science of revolution for the United States, whatever doctrine we decide to base ourselves, has to be heavily enriched with anti-colonial thought. One of the referents of Maoism, the Naxalites in India. have not properly dealt with Adivasi culture, and have sometimes misunderstood the way it operates, facing local resentment and resistance.11 This should raise a warning flag on the operating methods of the “mass line”, where the party is left as an interpreter because of its knowledge of Marxism. Furthermore, Naxalites have not successfully linked their struggle with the struggles in Indian cities. A strategy that bases itself on the most oppressed in the US would surely face similar problems. In this respect, the Phillipino Communists do this linking much better, through the use of broad quasi-popular fronts. However, they also went as far as endorsing support for Biden in the last US presidential election. How to adequately interface with the labor aristocracy and win hegemony over them is going to be a gigantic tactical and strategic problem here. 

So to end, I am proposing we do not rely on slogans that can be ossified and filled in with spontaneity. We do not have a Yunnan to build a red base in the US, geography is not as favorable here. Our fight is a long one that will not be solved with tricks but will require years and decades of changing tactics and reevaluating strategies. In this spirit, Cosmonaut is an open forum where revolutionaries can talk to each other and propose ways forward. I know this contribution raises more questions than gives answers, but I hope it serves as a starting point for asking better questions. 

Lenin’s Boys: A Short History of Soviet Hungary

Doug Enaa Greene on the Hungarian Soviet Republic and its tragic defeat. 

Automobile loaded with Communists going through the streets of Budapest, March 5, 1919.

It is 1919 and Russia is in the midst of a ruthless civil war with fronts stretching for thousands of kilometers across a ruined country. On one side are aristocrats and capitalists who had been overthrown less than two years before and are now desperately fighting to return to power. On the other side are the workers and peasants of the former Russian Empire, who had seized power from their former masters and were now determined to defend it. It is a savage struggle between two irreconcilable worlds with only two ways it can end: total victory or death. 

The Bolsheviks did not see their struggle as merely the concern of Russians but as the spark of a world revolution against exploitation and oppression. During the early months of 1919, the Bolshevik spark appeared to set fire to the old order of Europe. Revolution and revolt gripped Germany, Austria, Spain, Scotland, Ireland, and Italy. Other countries seemed poised for upheaval. Understanding the importance of these events, Commissar of War Leon Trotsky explained to soldiers of the Red Army:

Decisive weeks in the history of mankind have arrived. The wave of enthusiasm over the establishment of a Soviet Republic in Hungary had hardly passed when the proletariat of Bavaria got possession of power and extended the hand of brotherly unison to the Russian and Hungarian Republics….To fulfil our international duty, we must first of all smash the bands of Kolchak. To support the victorious workers of Hungary and Bavaria, to help the revolt of the workers in Poland, in Germany and throughout Europe, we must establish Soviet power definitively and irrefutably over the whole extent of Russia.1

When Trotsky spoke those words, Russia no longer stood alone. On March 21, workers’ revolution had come to Budapest and Soviet power was proclaimed. The Soviet Republic of Hungary joined with Soviet Russia in attacking the bastions of bourgeois power and showed the possibilities of a new socialist order. Unfortunately, Soviet Hungary did not last long and was toppled after only 133 days by the armed power of the internal counterrevolution and imperialism. Those were not the only causes of Soviet Hungary’s defeat. Poor Communist leadership and rash policies made Soviet Hungary’s loss swifter and more certain by alienating many potential supporters. Even though the Hungarian Soviet Republic provides many negative examples of how to make a revolution, they deserve to be remembered for their boldness in attempting to accomplish the impossible in the worst conditions.

Towards the Abyss

In the years before World War One, the reign of the ancient Hapsburg dynasty over the Austro-Hungarian Empire appeared secure. The Hapsburgs had successfully co-opted potential unrest from the Magyar nobility in 1867 by creating a Dual Monarchy. The Compromise of 1867 granted the Magyar aristocracy unparalleled autonomy with control over their own government and budget. Only in foreign policy, a common army, and a customs union did the Magyars remain united with Austria.

However, this apparent success of the Hapsburgs in Hungary masked deeper centrifugal forces that threatened the Empire’s stability. By the turn of the twentieth century, a fifth of Hungarian land was owned by just three hundred families. The question of land was acute in Hungary since nearly two-thirds of the population worked in agriculture. Land concentration affected not only the peasantry but also the lesser nobility. Many of these new “landless gentry” looked for employment in the new state bureaucracy. Before 1867, the bureaucracy possessed only a skeletal structure in Hungary. Afterward, it expanded rapidly with the construction of post offices, schools, railways, and tax collectors.2 According to the historian Perry Anderson 

“The Hungarian nobility henceforward represented the militant and masterful wing of aristocratic reaction in the Empire, which increasingly came to dominate the personnel and policy of the Absolutist apparatus in Vienna itself.”3

The social problems of Hungary were further compounded by the fact that only a minority of the population were Magyar (or ethnically Hungarian). In 1910, out of Hungary’s population of 21 million, only 10 million were Magyar. The majority were Croats, Slovenes, Romanians, Germans, Slovaks, Serbs, Ukrainians, and Jews. Jews formed less than 5 percent of the population, but they were heavily concentrated in urban centers such as Budapest (forming one-fifth of the populace). Many Jews played key roles in industrial and cultural life, fostering the growth of “popular” antisemitism. Antisemitism would be further exacerbated among the aristocracy and the peasantry by the fact that future leaders of the Hungarian Soviet Republic such as Georg Lukács, Béla Kun, József Pogány, Tibor Szamuely were Jews. Thus, the unresolved national question had revolutionary potential in Hungary.

The Compromise of 1867 benefited the Magyar nobility immensely. They gained a great deal of power and privileges that they had no intention of surrendering. The nobility ensured that both non-Magyar and the lower classes were denied any democratic rights. In 1914, only six percent of the population had the vote. William Craig explained the dilemma of the Hungarian nobility as follows: “Pretending to be Magyar, it gave no political rights to the Magyar peasants, the bulk of that nationality. Pretending to be liberal, it gave no political voice to the non-Magyar nationalities, very nearly a majority of the population.”4

The Dual Monarchy created a situation that Trotsky would characterize as combined and uneven development.5 On the one hand, it reinforced the weight of absolutism, feudalism, and the oppression of national minorities. On the other hand, it enabled the rapid expansion of capitalism and the creation of a bourgeoisie in Hungary. However, this bourgeoisie was not prepared to play a revolutionary role. For one, the development of capitalism was facilitated by Austrian and foreign capital, meaning the Magyar bourgeoisie was dwarfed by them. Secondly, the bourgeoisie was more interested in entering the ranks of the nobility than in overthrowing them. Magyar capitalists purchased large estates and married into the aristocracy. Lastly, the bourgeoisie was unable to play a truly Jacobin role because they could not rely on the working class. To do so would threaten their power and property as much as that of the aristocracy. As Michael Löwy concluded: “the real class interests of the bourgeoisie… wisely preferred the status quo to any revolutionary-democratic adventure, with all the attendant dangers for its own survival as a class.”6

Industrialization had created a modern working class. Out of an active labor force of 9 million, there were 1.2 million workers. Approximately a third of whom worked in small factories numbering between 1 and 20 workers. On top of this, 37 percent of laborers worked in factories numbering more than 20.7 At least 300,000 laborers worked in businesses with more than 100 workers and a third of them were located in Budapest.8 Thus, Hungary possessed a highly concentrated and volatile industrial working class, who possessed the potential social weight to lead both a bourgeois-democratic and a socialist revolution.

In fact, the Hungarian proletariat had a long history of militancy. In 1894, there were clashes between agricultural workers and the army in Hódmezővásárhely that left a number dead. Three years later, there were strikes in 14 counties by agricultural workers. In 1905, 1912, and 1913 the working class launched mass strikes and demonstrations for universal male suffrage. However, the Hungarian Social Democratic Party/Magyarországi Szociáldemokrata Párt (MSZDP) was not prepared to lead a working revolution. Formed in 1890, the MSZDP based its program on the German Erfurt Program, which had the ultimate aim of socialism, but it focused on immediate goals such as achieving democratic and social reforms such as universal suffrage. In general, the MSZDP tended to embrace a reformist and legalistic strategy, which was ironic considering they were excluded from parliament by the nobility and the bourgeoisie. All this meant that the MSZDP was a marginal political force in Hungary. 

The MSZDP possessed a narrowly “workerist” ideology, reflecting their base among the elite and skilled sections of the unionized working class. Thus, the party paid only lip-service to demands for Hungarian independence or rights for national minorities. The MSZDP was hostile to the peasantry, writing them off as one reactionary mass: The peasantry is reactionary in the true sense of the word…. This… makes it impossible to enter into even temporary alliances with the peasantry.”9 Due to their reformism, mistrust of the peasantry, and national minorities, the MSZDP was not up to the task of playing a revolutionary vanguard role.

A scattered left opposition did oppose the MSZDP leadership. The most significant came from a librarian, translator of Marx, and anarcho-syndicalist theorist named Ervin Szabó (1877-1918). Szabó criticized the MSZDP’s opportunism and parliamentarism, demanding internal democratization of the party. Uniquely, Szabó advocated autonomy for cultural minorities within Hungary. He managed to exert influence upon a number of young students and founders of the Communist Party such as Jenő László and Béla Vágó.10 Vágó organized a small radical faction in the MSZDP that included other future communists, including Gyula Alpári, Béla Szántó, and László Rudas. By 1907, Szabó and his supporters were effectively isolated inside the MSZDP and driven out.

Szabó’s influence extended far outside the ranks of the Social Democratic Party. Among those who were shaped by him was a young and brilliant philosopher and future communist named Georg Lukács (1885-1971).11 While outside of organized politics before World War One, Lukács was involved in a number of philosophical and intellectual circles that were influenced by radical ideas, many of whom would later join the Communist Party.

Despite all the challenges, the Hungarian Ancien Régime resisted all calls for reform. Prime Minister István Tisza thwarted all attempts for land reform and even the most modest expansion of voting rights. While these efforts prevailed, the strength of Hungarian conservatism came not from any brilliance among the aristocracy, but from the weaknesses of its opponents. As World War One would prove, the Hungarian social order was built on feet of clay and unprepared for a great trial of strength. When the guns went silent, it collapsed like a house of cards.

World War One

When war was declared in 1914 there was mass jubilation in Hungary. All social classes shared in it,  as for many the war appeared to be a chance for glory and conquest. When mass mobilization began, crowds in Budapest shouted for the defeat of Serbia. Priests blessed the soldiers marching off to far-off battlefields. Even the socialists were not immune from national sentiment. Like their counterparts elsewhere in Europe, the MSZDP abandoned its internationalist commitments and pledged their support to the government’s war effort. While the Social Democrats had no seats in parliament, there is little doubt that they would have voted for war credits if given the opportunity.

Very quickly, Hungary was on a war footing. In 1915, the army took over the management of most major industries and mines in a sort of “military socialism.” The war also brought on full employment and increased wages since skilled workers in armaments industries were at a premium and exempted from military service. Since munitions workers were determined to protect their bargaining power, the membership of organized labor increased to 200,000 by war’s end.12 However, the war economy took its toll on the home front as inflation grew and real wages plummeted. Labor shortages caused the production of fuel and foodstuffs to fall by half, leading to the introduction of rationing and the rise of a black market that benefited a small elite. Many blamed the Jews for war-profiteering and speculation. Conditions were overall appalling. Urban centers lacked new housing construction and were overcrowded due to an influx of 200,000 refugees.13 Despite the sacrifices, production failed to meet the needs of the army.

Hungary contributed disproportionately to the Hapsburg war effort. Of the 9 million soldiers Austria-Hungary drafted during the war, 4 million came from Hungary. The Hungarians suffered heavy casualties as well with at least 660,000 killed in battle, 740,000 wounded and nearly 730,000 taken prisoner.14 The heavy losses served to embitter the Hungarians, who believed they were being used as cannon-fodder. As suffering increased during the course of the war, public opinion shifted from chauvinistic militarism to disillusionment and hatred for the government.

István Tisza headed the Hungarian government during the war and was committed to victory. He also believed that victory could come without granting any major reforms. An opposition to Tisza’s conservative intransigence coalesced around Mihály Károlyi and the Party of Independence. From an aristocratic background and holding the title of Count, Károlyi broke with his class in advocating liberal and nationalist reforms. The Party of Independence vaguely supported suffrage to veterans, demands for Hungarian economic independence, and an end to the war. Károlyi himself was too radical for the party and resigned in 1916. He formed the United Party of Independence and 1848 that forthrightly supported Hungarian independence, universal suffrage, land reforms, a welfare state, and an end to the war. The new party had a base among democratic intellectuals and ultra-nationalist members of the gentry. It also formed the main parliamentary opposition. In 1917, Károlyi managed to gain support from the MSZDP for his peace and democratic reform program.15 All of this meant that Károlyi and the United Party of Independence and 1848 were now the nucleus of a future government.

Count Mihály Károlyi

Until the Soviet peace proposals of 1917, the MSZDP was doggedly committed to the war effort. Thus, any anti-war voices that appeared did so without official sanction from the party. The first anti-war socialists began organizing in 1915 when activists created a network to coordinate anti-war propaganda in the army and illegal strikes. The police clamped down and stopped their organizing. Two years later, a more serious anti-war opposition formed as socialists and labor activists among engineers, metalworkers, and technicians created their own unions to coordinate strikes and force concessions from the government. They did this without support from the MSZDP. Undaunted, these “engineer socialists” built support in a number of union locals in Budapest.16 This new center of militant syndicalism provided an invaluable organizing center for future working-class struggles against the old regime.

Another leftist pole known as the Revolutionary Socialists was created in 1917 by Szabó-style syndicalists and intellectuals from the Galileo Circle. Among their members were future communists Ottó Korvin, János Lékai, József Révai, and Imre Sallai.17 The Revolutionary Socialists were inspired by the anti-war propaganda coming out of Russia. Their propaganda highlighted real grievances and called for strikes, sabotage, and an end to the war. Arguably, the Revolutionary Socialists were the first Bolshevik center inside Hungary, not only rejecting both the status quo and Social-Democracy but also supporting a working-class revolution based upon workers’ councils.18 The Hungarian revolutionary left viewed workers councils or soviets as a real way to mobilize workers for revolution. In contrast to the reformist MSZDP and trade unions, councils organized workers at the point of production and engage in militant direct action. The Russian Revolution also showed that workers’ councils could provide the foundation for a working-class state against the bourgeois state.

On December 26, 1917, two syndicalist activists, Antal Mosolygó and Sándor Ösztreicher set up the first workers council.19 The “engineer socialists” created this council to organize and coordinate the workers for a national strike which momentum had been building up for since November as the economic situation deteriorated. To counter leftist agitation the government banned the Galileo Circle and had its members arrested for sedition.

News of the punitive terms demanded by Germany to Russia at the Brest-Litovsk negotiations ended up sparking mass strikes in Wiener Neustadt in Austria in January. Before long these strikes had spread to Hungary. On January 18, the Revolutionary Socialists and syndicalists still at liberty called for a strike. The strike was supported by railway workers and engineers, but more than 150,000 took to the streets, shouting slogans “Long Live the Workers’ Councils!” and “Greetings to Soviet Russia!” At the last minute, the Social-Democrats threw their support behind the strike, but only in order to end it. Several unions refused, notably the metalworkers’ and the rail-workers unions. Ultimately the resignation of the MSZDP from the strike’s executive committee forced a return to work.

Mere weeks later, the MZSDP held an extraordinary party congress. On the surface, it was a victory for the moderates. The party managed to contain rebellion from militant unions and the incumbent leadership was supported by an overwhelming majority. However, the party executive was no longer unchallenged and revolutionary politics were on the political map. Political polarization was only just beginning.

The January strike was only the start of social unrest. Soldiers in the barracks revolted and it was difficult for the army to send new recruits to the front. During the summer, more than a hundred thousand deserted. Over the course of the next few months, workers engaged in wildcat strikes. From June 22-27, Landler and the railroad workers launched another major strike, demanding wage increases. Soon a million workers were in the streets of Budapest. In response, the government had Landler arrested. Once again, the Social-Democrats joined the strike but ended it once minor concessions were granted. Tellingly, the MSZDP did not demand the release of Landler as a condition for returning to work. The June defeat only incensed the radicals and union leaders, deepening the divide between them and the MSZDP leadership.
In early October, the socialists took advantage of the relaxed censorship and demanded universal suffrage and a secret ballot, peace based on American President Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points, nationalization of major industries, land reform, and equal rights for all nationalities. The MSZDP’s program for a “People’s Government” was denounced by the revolutionary left as too little, too late.

While the divide between moderates and revolutionaries in the MSZDP was deep, it had not yet been consummated in a formal split. The revolutionary left lacked a coherent program to rally around. The split would finally come in late November when a prisoner-of-war named Béla Kun returned from Soviet Russia to provide guidance to the revolutionary left.

Béla Kun

During the war, Austria-Hungary experienced its heaviest fighting in Romania and Russia where millions died. At least 10 percent of the Austria-Hungarian army was taken prisoner there, including 600,000 Hungarians.20 Among them was a conscript and former socialist journalist named Béla Kun (1886-1938), who was captured in 1916 and sent to a POW camp in Tomsk. He would prove to be in the right place at the right time.

Béla Kun

As the Russian Empire collapsed in revolution, thousands of Hungarian prisoners including Kun were attracted to Bolshevism. In April 1917, Kun befriended members of the local soviet and expressed his desire to work with them on behalf of the socialist cause. In an article written around this time, Kun explained his attraction to the Russian Revolution:

Although I worked for the common cause far from the Russian comrades, I too absorbed the air of the West, where the great ideas of social democracy were born. Now, in the light of the Great Russian Revolution, I understand: ex oriente lux.21

Kun was quite a catch for the Tomsk Soviet and proved to be energetic, talented, and dedicated. He was a “jack of all trades” who wrote for the leftist Novaia Zhizn on foreign affairs and organized Hungarian POWs in support of the revolution. After the October Revolution, Kun was transferred from Tomsk to Petrograd, where he began working for the International Propaganda Department of Foreign Affairs under Karl Radek. There, he worked with the Bolsheviks to conduct antiwar propaganda amongst German troops at the Brest-Litovsk peace negotiations. He also continued his agitation among prisoners of war scattered throughout Russia.

Once the negotiations at the Brest-Litovsk broke down in February 1918, the Germans launched a major offensive against Russia. Kun attempted to rally Hungarian prisoners to fight on behalf of the Bolsheviks. Even though Russia signed a humiliating peace treaty, Kun’s efforts to organize Hungarians continued. After the Bolshevik seizure of power, Hungarians were fighting for the revolution. Due to the efforts of Kun about 80,000-100,000 more Hungarians enlisted in the Red Guard to defend the Soviet Republic in the Civil War.22 Kun himself served in an internationalist unit that defended Moscow, where he helped to put down an abortive putsch by the Left Socialist Revolutionaries in July 1918.23 Over the next three months, Kun fought in the Urals, commanding a Red Army company and, later, a battalion.24 He proved himself to be one of the most valued, talented, and influential foreign socialists in Soviet Russia.

Kun’s efforts to organize the Hungarian POWs inspired similar endeavors by the Bolsheviks among German, Czech, Serb and Romanian POWs. Lenin believed that they were naturally sympathetic to communism, but their sympathy had to be translated into action. The Bolsheviks hoped that the POWs would not only serve in the Red Army but act as “carriers” by bringing international revolution back to their homelands. While the Bolsheviks had mixed results among the various nationalities, their efforts among the Hungarians proved to be quite successful. In March 1918, a core of communists was created among the Hungarians and they formed a Hungarian section of the Bolshevik Party.

It was the plan of Kun and his close comrades, Tibor Szamuely and Endre Rudnyánszky, to train cadre for a return to Hungary in order to foment revolution. From March onward, a series of meetings were held in Russia for the purpose of forming the Hungarian Communist Party, which was established on November 4 in Moscow. Between May and November of 1918, the Hungarians organized an educational program to provide a crash course in communism. Five seminars were held in Moscow on a variety of themes ranging from the ABCs of communism, the Marxist theory of value, imperialism, and the Russian Revolution. Kun, Szamuely, and Kráoly Vántus taught most of the lectures. One hundred and twenty agitators were trained and 100 of them returned to Hungary in November. Despite their small numbers, they proved invaluable in laying the foundation of an organized communist party in Hungary itself.25 Considering the chaotic situation in Hungary, Kun and the Bolsheviks believed it was imperative for the Hungarians to return home with all due haste.

Kun left Soviet Russia on November 6 along with 250-300 Hungarian communists. They were only a drop among the approximately 300,000 prisoners, who returned to Hungary in the closing months of 1918. Kun and his comrades used false documents and had little trouble crossing the border.26 Their revolutionary work was just beginning.

The Chrysanthemum Revolution

By September, military defeat for the Central Powers was no longer in doubt. The German offensive on the Western Front had failed and the Allies were advancing everywhere. The Hapsburg Empire was beginning to come apart as various nationalities prepared to secede. Rather than fight for a lost cause, Hungarian soldiers at the front spontaneously refused to fight and the mutiny quickly spread to the entire Hungarian army.

On October 16, in an effort to placate the Allies and save the Austro-Hungary from collapse, Emperor Karl I declared that he accepted the principle of federalism. The Hapsburgs planned to create a series of national councils composed of German, Czech, South Slav and Ukrainian, who would cooperate with the Imperial government. This last-ditch effort could not save the Hapsburgs. Over the next month, the Romanians, Czechs, Southern Slavs, and other nationalities seceded and formed their own states. The end of Austria-Hungary was all but an accomplished fact.

Interestingly, Karl I’s proclamation exempted the Magyars and ensured the territorial integrity of the Kingdom of Hungary. Even at this late date, the Magyar ruling class still hoped to preserve Greater Hungary without granting any autonomy to the subject nationalities. As Austria-Hungary collapsed, the Hungarian government declared the 1867 compromise null and void. They declared that Hungary had regained full sovereignty. The revolt from below meant the old system of aristocratic government was no longer viable. The only political alternative now was a democratic republic, which the Magyar ruling class had rejected for generations. There was only one figure with genuine democratic credentials who could lead a Hungarian republic: Mihály Károlyi.

The new government took shape in a meeting held on October 23-24 at Károlyi’s mansion. The attendees included representatives of Károlyi’s party, the small Radical Party led by Oszkár Jászi and the Social-Democrats. The following day, the three parties announced the formation of a National Council which was effectively a new government-in-waiting. The National Council released a progressive program of democratic and social reforms, national independence, an end to the war, land reform and a more equitable distribution of wealth.

It was a shrewd and brilliant move to include the MSZDP. Unlike the other parties, the socialists possessed the sole organized force in the country with its one million strong trade union constituency. The socialists had no intention of launching a socialist revolution but could use their apparatus to provide legitimacy to a bourgeois one. This coalition of liberal aristocrats, middle-class reformers, and opportunist socialists, was heterodox and unwieldy, but also the only social force who saw themselves as capable of filling the political vacuum.

Emperor Karl I hesitated to recognize the Hungarian National Council. Instead, he appointed Count Janos Hedik, as Prime Minister of Hungary on October 29. On October 30, Hungarian troops showed their lack of confidence in Hedik by taking over strategic positions in Budapest. The following day, Hedik resigned and Károlyi was appointed Prime Minister in his stead. The Hedik government lasted barely two days. There was jubilation in the streets of Budapest with many of the troops wearing white chrysanthemums. The white chrysanthemums were popular this time of year for All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. In turn, the chrysanthemum became the symbol of the victorious revolution.

The Interlude

It appeared that Hungary had all ingredients for a successful bourgeois-democratic revolution: the transfer of power was peaceful and bloodless, the majority of the population gained the vote, and the government was supported by both liberals and leftists. However, the very circumstances that had allowed the Chrysanthemum Revolution to occur meant it had limited chances to fulfill its program.

For one, Károlyi’s government inherited the defeat and ruin left by the Hapsburgs. Even though an armistice was signed with the Allies on November 3, this contained no agreements on Hungary’s borders. In fact, French, Romanian and Yugoslav armies continued to threaten Hungary from the east and south. Ten days later, Károlyi signed a further armistice that deprived Hungary of more than half of its former territory. On top of this, there was no longer an army to defend the frontiers, with only scattered units around to offer any resistance. As time wore on, Magyar nationalists believed that Károlyi was incapable of defending Hungary. The Allies showed no concern for the Hungarians but appeared only interested in punitive measures, which only served to undermine Károlyi’s government.

Nearly as threatening as the territorial losses and the armistice negotiations was the catastrophic economic situation at home. Due to territorial changes, only about one-fifth of coal mines remained inside Hungary’s new borders. Thus, fuel and electricity were rationed in Budapest, which forced businesses to close early. The dire state of transport meant food rotted in the countryside and could not be sold in the cities. As a result, starving workers launched food riots. Inflation was rampant. Unemployment skyrocketed with the return of prisoners of war and an influx of refugees. The Károlyi government had no plans to reconvert industry to civilian production. The situation in Hungary was like the war had never ended since the Allied economic blockade remained in force.

Károlyi’s government was unprepared to handle these manifold crises. Most of them had little to no experience in government. They were forced to rely upon the benevolent neutrality of the old state bureaucracy and the officer corps. Nor did the government have much legitimacy outside of Budapest. Both the United Party of Independence and 1848 and the Radical Party had no mass support or political organization. The only group that possessed both was the socialists. According to Rudolf Tőkés: “The government… could not implement a single major decision… without the tacit or expressed consent of the socialists.”27

However, the Chrysanthemum Revolution placed the socialists in a dilemma. On the one hand, they had the support of organized labor and could potentially use that base to take power, nationalize industries and carry out a socialist program. On the other hand, they could use their power to consolidate a bourgeois-democratic revolution. The MSZDP leadership refrained from taking power and decided to enter the government as a responsible junior partner.28

Beyond its influence in the trade unions, the socialists held commanding positions in the workers’ councils. While Károlyi formerly controlled the reins of government, genuine power was in the hands of the councils. It was important that the MSZDP use its influence in the councils to halt any radical impulses. Out of 365 delegates to the councils, the socialists held a commanding majority of 239. The socialists’ power was so great in the workers’ councils that they were able to exclude the revolutionary left from them in November. The radicals only managed to hold onto a small audience in the soldiers’ councils.29 While the MSZDP kept the councils loyal to the government, other ideas developed. As the economy collapsed, workers found themselves more and more drawn into managing industries with thoughts of workers’ control. The socialists planned to use their control of the workers’ councils to restore production. In November, Zsigmond Kunfi, one of the socialist members of Károlyi’s cabinet called for a “six-week suspension of class struggle.”30 However, calls for calm and restoring production seemed like a cruel joke to workers as the economy and their livelihoods disintegrated.

Learning nothing from the example of the Russian Mensheviks, Hungarian Socialists supported a democratic government where they shared blame for its decisions. Many socialists believed that the MSZDP had relinquished its socialist program in order to befriend its bourgeois allies. Many workers also distrusted a government that was controlled by aristocrats and capitalists. As the failures of the Károlyi government mounted, the party’s base and the councils began to look elsewhere for solutions.

The Hungarian Communist Party

On November 24, the Hungarian Communist Party (HCP) was officially founded in Budapest. Béla Kun was the acknowledged leader of the new party. The new central committee included thirteen members, including former POWs such as Vántus, György Nánássy, and Szamuely (who headed an alternative central committee). Among the party’s founders were left-wing socialists such as Korvin, Béla Vágó, and Béla Szántó.31 The new HCP’s program was uncompromisingly revolutionary: demanding an end to class collaboration, exposing the right-wing leadership of the MSZDP, nationalizing estates, creating unemployment insurance, workers control in the factories, alliance with Soviet Russia, and a dictatorship of the proletariat based upon the workers’ councils. As Béla Kun’s biography György Borsányi said of the party: “In summary we may state: the organizational principles of the new party were underdeveloped, its ideology was messianic.”32

Hungarian Communist Party founder Tibor Szamuely (second from the left) and V. I. Lenin in Moscow, 1919

Unlike the MSZDP, the HCP was not a parliamentary vote-catching organization, but a dynamic and youthful organization committed to revolutionary action. They began publishing a newspaper Vörös Ujság (Red Journal) to reach the broader populace. Kun and the HCP were uniquely placed to rally all forces of the radical left to their banner and fan the flames of discontent. Despite its small size, the opportunities for the HCP to grow were immense.

Georg Lukács

Among the earliest adherents to the HCP was Georg Lukács, who became its most internationally renowned member. Lukács had long stayed away from organized politics in exchange for literary and philosophical pursuits. He was a romantic anti-capitalist and opposed to the war, but saw no social force capable of creating a new order. Lukács viewed the MSZDP as irredeemably bourgeois. The success of the October Revolution made a deep impact upon him, even though he found many of the Bolshevik’s tactics to be abhorrent. In November 1918, Lukács wrote “Bolshevism as an Ethical Problem” expressing his central objection:

We either seize the opportunity and realize communism, and then we must embrace dictatorship, terror and class oppression, and raise the proletariat to the position of ruling class in place of class-rule as we have known it, convinced that – just as Beelzebub chased out Satan this last form of class rule, by its very nature the cruelest and most naked, will destroy itself, and with it all class rule.33

However, Lukács passed quickly from his abstract ethical objection of Bolshevik violence after reading Lenin’s State and Revolution and attending communist meetings.34 During this same period, he met Béla Kun, who explained the need to use revolutionary terror and violence. Lukács accepted Kun’s arguments on the necessity for revolutionary violence, saying later:

… we Communists are like Judas. It is our bloody work to crucify Christ. But this sinful work is at the same time our calling: only through death on the cross does Christ become God, and this is necessary to be able to save the world. We Communists then take the sins of the world upon us, in order to be able thereby to save the world.35

Twelve days after the Communist Party was founded, Lukács officially joined as its fifty-second member.36 He was co-opted onto the editorial board of the party’s journal Internationale and became a member of the alternative central committee.

Georg Lukács around the time of the Soviet Republic

The Road to Power

Over the course of the following months, the HCP grew from a tiny sect into a mass party and, finally, the second communist party in the world to take state power. The HCP was aided not only by the revolutionary situation in Hungary; they had a clear goal and worked methodically towards it. Vörös Ujság was an organ ideally suited to agitation on a mass scale. By contrast, Internationale, lectures, and seminars appealed to artists, writers, and intellectuals. Lastly, the communists were utterly dedicated to spreading the revolutionary message throughout the country. Kun himself was able to deliver twenty speeches a day. As József Révai observed: “There was hardly a worker who was not at some time and in some way exposed to communist propaganda.”37

Over the next few months, the HCP went to work. The HCP targeted selected groups whom they believed were open to radicalization, such as unionized workers in heavy industry, particularly miners and steelworkers in Budapest. They also hoped to win over the soldiers’ council and the unemployed. It was not simply that all these groups had grievances, but the cautious tactics by the MSZDP and the union leadership had disillusioned militants. While the socialists remained committed to its middle-of-the-road course, a great deal of its rank-and-file were dismayed with the party’s moderate stance. They grew fascinated by the Communist élan and that history appeared to be on their side. Considering the economic breakdown in Hungary, many workers began to doubt the possibilities of democratically reaching socialism. Only the communists seemed to promise something more than accommodating the bourgeoisie. Despite the HCP’s rigid qualifications for membership, these were often ignored in the breach. As a result, the party grew from 10,000 in January to 25,000 in February, with 10,000 located in Budapest alone.38 At the beginning of January, the communists took over the Young Workers’ League, which had previously been under MSZDP leadership. Even though the HCP only managed to recruit a small minority, it was both vocal and active.

By January, there were calls inside the workers’ councils for the creation of a purely socialist government. While a compromise plan was adopted that doubled the socialist membership in Károlyi’s cabinet, it was clear that the MSZDP leadership was divided. The HCP did not hesitate to exploit these divisions, calling for a split:

We do not intend to push the Social Democratic toward the left…but rather to help the revolutionary elements break away, so that the reformists and the believers in legal methods would be isolated. We must push he reformists to the right, by splitting off the revolutionaries and uniting them in the [Communist] Party. This is the only way to enable the Hungarian proletariat to take advantage of the revolutionary situation and participate in the international proletarian revolution.39

The HCP’s call for open rebellion in the Socialist Party provoked a response. On January 28, the MSZDP used its majority in the workers’ councils to have the communist faction expelled and its members physically removed. However, the MSZDP’s commitment to the government meant that they had cleared the way for the communists to take charge of the streets.

Over the course of January and February, mass struggles escalated. On January 2, a strike broke out at one of the largest coal mines in Hungary. The miners proceeded to occupy the pits, the nearby buildings, and railroad stations. The government sent in troops to put down the strike. As a result, ten strike leaders were shot. On January 22, the HCP called for a rent strike in Budapest, which prompted the government to issue a general rent reduction. Lastly, there were public demonstrations of soldiers and the unemployed in Budapest that led to violence.

The arrival of the HCP on the political scene alarmed the Károlyi government, who hoped to contain the situation. The police were granted new powers and new legislation was passed to curtail the “excesses” by the workers’ councils. In February, the government made a show of authority by moving against a number of right-wing groups and raiding the offices of Vörös Újság.

Things were not quiet in the countryside either. The slow pace of land reform led to a rash of land seizures by the peasantry. To protect themselves from the threat of revolution, the local gentry raised their own militias. In an attempt to pacify the peasantry, the Károlyi government passed a much-heralded land reform law on February 16. The law limited the size of holdings to 500 acres with compensation to be paid by the government. In a symbolic gesture to commemorate the new law, Károlyi personally divided up his own immense estate. Károlyi’s gesture did little to inspire other landowners, who remained determined to hold onto their holdings. The peasantry was disappointed in the law, believing it set the limits of estates to be too high and that the whole process of land redistribution was too slow and marred with red tape. Instead of relying upon the law, the peasants decided to take matters into their hands by occupying large estates and forming cooperatives. Ultimately, the land reform remained a dead letter.40

It was the hope of the government and socialists that their measures would provoke a response from the communists. By February, the HCP had grown enormously, but they were still far from overtaking the MSZDP, not to mention taking power. It was still possible to permanently curb their influence. That opportunity came on February 20. On that day, a communist-led demonstration in Budapest of the unemployed marched to the offices of Népszava (People’s Voice), a Social-Democratic newspaper, criticizing their coverage of the unemployed movement. A cordon of police was waiting for them and guarding the offices. The ensuing clash between demonstrators and the police left several dead and injured.

Károly Dietz, the police commissioner of Budapest, used the demonstration to demand that the government take immediate action against the communist threat. The government wanted assurances from Dietz that arrests could be carried out successfully and without sparking any backlash. After Dietz gave his assurances, the government gave him permission. That night, the police arrested forty-three leading communists, including Béla Kun.41 Once in custody, Kun was severely beaten and nearly killed by the police. By the end of the month, party headquarters and the Vörös Újság offices were closed and dozens more communists were arrested.42

The entire MSZDP, including its left-wing, supported the anticommunist crackdown. The following day, the socialists staged a mass demonstration of upwards of 250,000 in Budapest to support the government. However, the mood of the marchers changed dramatically once word reached them that Kun had been beaten. According to György Borsányi: “The impact was tremendous. Within minutes the mood on the streets had changed drastically. The shooting at the Népszava building became an insignificant misunderstanding compared to the news that the police had bludgeoned Kun to death, or at least half-dead.”43 Workers remembered the police brutality of the old regime and all that bitterness came rushing back. Suddenly, an anti-communist demonstration transformed into one sympathizing with the communists. This was exactly the backlash that the government had hoped to avoid.

Despite the arrests of the HCP leadership, its back-up central committee under Lukács, Szamuely, Gyula Hevesi, Ferenc Rákos, and Ernő Bettelheim went into action within days. Vörös Újság published again and agitators were entering the factories. As the socialist writer Lajos Kassák observed: “It was business as usual for the communists.”44 The HCP found that Kun’s martyrdom was a very effective propaganda weapon. Not only did the HCP recover quickly, but they gained mass support and sympathy from the population. 

It became clear to the socialists that they would have difficulty filing charges against the communists because they would have to use the laws of the old regime. This would provide a golden opportunity for Kun to agitate against both them and the government. To salvage the situation, the government did an about-face and condemned the mistreatment of communist prisoners. Soon the communists were granted preferential treatment and Kun was able to lead the HCP from prison.

Over the ensuing weeks, the right-wing leadership of the MSZDP lost a great deal of influence. The voice of the leftists such as Pogány, Jenő Landler and Eugen Varga in the party grew. They condemned the socialist leadership for abandoning the class struggle, as well as making increased calls for unity with the communists and an alliance with Soviet Russia. The old party apparatus could no longer silence them.

On March 3, in a sign that the working class was moving leftward, the Budapest Workers’ Council voted to allow the communists to rejoin after expelling them only weeks before.45 Four days later, the council approved a plan for socialization. On March 10, the workers’ council of Kaposvar took power, posing a direct challenge to the government. In the countryside, land seizures and unrest continued to grow. On March 13, the Budapest police force recognized the authority of the soldiers’ council. This effectively meant that the last shred of governmental authority had vanished in the capital. Days later, trade unions at the Csepel iron and steel factories passed resolutions in favor of freeing the communists and denounced the MSZDP in favor of socializing industry. On March 20, a printers’ general strike paralyzed Budapest, and thousands of ironworkers joined the HCP. During the strike, the air was rife with rumors of an armed uprising to free the communists and create a soviet regime.

On March 5, an electoral law was passed with democratic elections planned for the following month. It was hoped that the elections would finally provide legitimacy for the government. While the reformist wing of the MSZDP placed faith in elections, the left was more attracted to Bolshevism. The election campaign was plagued with outbursts of violence and on March 19 the Radical Party declared its intention to abstain. As authority slipped away from Károlyi, the MSZDP’s rationale for staying in the coalition government grew more tenuous. Hungary seemed headed towards civil war.46

Károlyi’s last hope to win support from the Allies to lift the blockade in order to shore up his government vanished on March 20. On behalf of the Entente, Lieutenant-Colonel Vix arrived in Budapest, delivering an ultimatum demanding that Hungary accept heavy territorial loses to Romania and to withdraw its troops from the frontier.47 Even more, Hungary was only given a single day to accept the terms. Károlyi knew that this marked the utter failure of his pro-Allied strategy. This left Károlyi’s government in an untenable position, leaving him no choice except to resign. Knowing that a purely socialist government would succeed him, Károlyi observed that he “was handing power over to the Hungarian proletariat.”48

However, the MSZDP leaders did not believe they could govern alone. They wanted the support of the HCP and, behind them, the military might of Soviet Russia. In the negotiations, Kun demanded that the socialists accept the Communist program and transform Hungary into a Soviet Republic. Seeing that they had no other options, the socialists agreed to Kun’s demands: the fusion of the two parties and the creation of a revolutionary soviet government. There was opposition inside the two parties to the merger, but most supported a unified party. Support for the merger came from the workers and soldiers councils in Budapest. Once the deal was accepted, Kun was released from prison and formed the revolutionary government.

No doubt speaking for others of her class, the anti-Semitic writer and aristocrat Cécile Tormay described the scene in disgust when the workers came to power in Hungary:

About seven o’clock a young journalist friend came to us, deadly pale. He closed the door quickly behind him, and looked round anxiously as if he feared he had been followed. He also looked terrified.

“Károlyi has resigned,” he said in a strained voice. “He sent Kunfi from the cabinet meeting to fetch Béla Kun from prison. Kunfi brought Béla Kun to the Prime Minister’s house in a motor car. The Socialists and Communists have come to an agreement and have formed a Directory of which Béla Kun, Tibor Szamuely, Sigmund Kunfi, Joseph Pogány  and Béla Vágó are to be the members. They are going to establish revolutionary tribunals and will make many arrests to-night. Save yourself don’t deliver yourself up to their vengeance.”

Even as he spoke, shooting started in the street outside. Suddenly I remembered my night’s vision . . . We are in the big ungainly house . . .the door handle of the last room is turning, and the last door opens . . .

An awful voice shrieked along the street :

“LONG LIVE THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE PROLETARIAT!”49

On March 21, the Hungarian Soviet Republic was proclaimed, raising the specter of the Bolshevik revolution engulfing central Europe.

Proclamation of the Hungarian Soviet Republic on March 21, 1919

The Republic of Councils

The Revolutionary Government

The first act of Soviet Hungary was the creation of a revolutionary government. The summit of power was located in the Revolutionary Governing Council (RGC). Following the Russian model, the twelve members of the RGC were known as People’s Commissars and the various branches of state as People’s Commissariats. In addition, there were twenty-one deputy commissars serving in the government. While none of the commissars were practicing Jews, twenty-eight of them came from a Jewish background, which reactionaries took as proof that the revolution was a Jewish plot.50

Anti-semitic and anti-communist poster

The revolutionary government itself had a largely socialist make-up. Out of the total of thirty-three commissars, socialists made up a majority with seventeen. However, many of these socialists were leftists such as Kunfi (Culture), Pogány (Defense), Landler (Interior), and Varga (Finance). Kun was the only communist to head a Commissariat (Foreign Affairs). Nine of the twenty-one deputy commissars were communists including Lukács (Culture), Szántó and Szamuely (Defense), Mátyás Rákosi (Commerce).51 The RGC’s president was a former MSZDP member named Sándor Garbai. Despite his position, Garbai held little actual power and the real leader of Soviet Hungary was Béla Kun.

Among the leaders of Soviet Hungary were journalists, philosophers, union activists, engineers, and professional revolutionaries, but the overwhelming majority had no prior experience in government. They not only had to contend with the immense problems left by the Hapsburgs and Károlyi, but had taken on the additional task of constructing socialism. The revolutionary government had little in the way to guide them, save the Russian experience, their Marxist education, and an almost superhuman belief in the communist future.

Economic and Social Measures

In their plans for the reorganization of industry, Kun believed that Hungary could improve upon the Bolsheviks, who originally followed a cautious approach to nationalization. To that end, the Soviet Republic nationalized all businesses employing more than twenty employees without compensation within a manner of days. Many smaller firms were spontaneously taken over by workers’ councils. By the end of April, at least 27,000 industrial enterprises were nationalized. This crash course in nationalization would have been a heroic undertaking in an advanced capitalist country, but Hungary was not only a backward one, but it faced economic collapse and possessed no planning infrastructure to integrate the industries.52 

The Soviet Republic intended for production to be run by government-appointed commissars, who would work in consultation with the workers’ councils. In practice, the economy was disorganized with a clash of authority between unions, councils, and the government. This resulted in a decline in production, rationing, and shortages.

In a series of measures to alleviate the housing shortage, the Soviet government nationalized apartments and family homes in the cities and the countryside. To the horror of the middle class and landlords, more than 100,000 homeless workers were given shelter with their rent either lowered or canceled outright.53 Over the following months, other social measures were instituted including the right to work, equal pay for equal work, an eight-hour day, paid maternity leave, higher wages (undercut by inflation), unemployment benefits, and free medical care. Due to a lack of time, most of these measures were barely carried out, if at all. However, the Soviet Republic left an impressive balance sheet of one dedicated to defending the working class.

Institutionalizing the Revolution

Early on, the revolutionary government intended to institutionalize itself by ratifying a new constitution. On March 31, delegates from a number of district councils and party organizations approved a draft constitution for the Republic of Councils. It was the second socialist constitution in the world and as a result was heavily modeled on the Russian one. The constitution declared the “Socialist Federal Soviet Republic of Hungary,” which planned to federate with other soviet republics.54 Hungary was now a “dictatorship of the proletariat” where all power was vested in the working class and the constitution granted them rights to education, democratic rights, and many aforementioned social measures. The constitution enacted the most far-reaching democracy in Hungarian history and all men and women over the age of 18 granted the right to vote, while all members of the old exploiting classes and the clergy were stripped of suffrage. The constitutional system envisioned a vast structure of soviets at the local and district level that would make the dictatorship of the proletariat a living reality. Delegates to national-level soviets were elected indirectly at meetings of the lower level soviets. Their mandate was for six months and – in the tradition of the Paris Commune – they could be recalled at any time.55 At the highest level was the National Congress of Councils, which would elect a Governing Central Committee (GCC) as the highest organ of the state. Finally, the GCC would elect the RGC that had the power to issue decrees and was technically responsible to both the National Congress of Councils and the GCC.

On the basis of the new constitution, the local soviets held elections from April 7-10. Most of the urban candidates were industrial workers and the rural ones were largely agricultural laborers. These candidates were selected based upon a single electoral list drawn up by the unified Socialist Party. This was far from being a rubber stamp election. Many of the electoral restrictions were ignored with priests, capitalists, and landlords running against the socialists. Despite being formally united, the socialists and communists jostled with each other during the election campaign for greater influence. The results of the April elections did little to institutionalize the revolution. Only about one-sixth of those elected in Budapest were communists.56 While voting was compulsory, only 30 percent of those eligible in the cities and 10-20 percent in the villages showed up to the polls.57 

In June, the National Assembly of Councils met to approve the new constitution. However, they were decidedly unrepresentative of the population. Two-thirds of the assembled delegates came from the Budapest region, and the peasantry only enjoyed scant representation. The communists composed only one-third of the delegates, but between them and the left socialists, they claimed a slim majority.58 Since the National Assembly of Councils met for such a short period of time, real authority remained in the RGC and the councils, particularly the Central Workers’ Council in Budapest. Due to the mounting external and internal crises facing Hungary, actual power came to reside more in the hands in the RGC.

Far from being a centralized totalitarian state, Soviet Hungary possessed multiple and competing centers of power such as the “united” socialist party, trade unions, Red Army, and councils. At the same time, the soviet regime faced resistance from the holdovers of the old bureaucracy, who showed little enthusiasm for the revolution or actively obstructed its directives. Perhaps with time, the revolution could have overcome these manifold problems, but time was one thing that Soviet Hungary did not have.

Hungarian Council of People’s Commissars

Power Struggle

In an April essay entitled “Party and Class,” Lukács hailed the unification of the MSZDP and the HCP as the restoration of working-class unity. According to Lukács, the unification showed that Social Democrats had “accepted without any reservations, as the basis of their activity, the communist, Bolshevik programme.”59 Furthermore, he said this was proof of the superiority of the Hungarian over the Russian Revolution because it proved “that power passed without violence and bloodshed into the hands of the proletariat.”60

In contrast to Lukács’ naiveté, Lenin was far more cautious about the fusion of the two parties. On March 23, Lenin sent a telegram to Béla Kun, where he demanded to know: “Please inform us of what real guarantees you have that the new Hungarian Government will actually be a communist, and not simply a socialist, government, i.e., one traitor-socialists.”61 Kun cabled back to Lenin that the merger was a success and assuring the Russian leader of his own paramount role in the revolutionary government as proof that the dictatorship of the proletariat had been created.62

Kun was certainly correct about his leading position in the government, but Lenin’s fears were completely justified. Many of the social democrats were late-comers to the revolution, who only supported the Soviet Republic due to expediency and not because of principle. Furthermore, due to their organizational experience, socialists tended to dominate the administrative apparatus of the party and government. As Tökés observed: “It took the Hungarian SDP just seven days to fully absorb the CP’s secretariat, agitprop apparatus and network of clandestine factory cells.”63 If anything, Bolshevik norms did not prevail in the governing party of Soviet Hungary. A left opposition of communists such Révai and Szamuely condemned the fusion as “immoral” and “spell[ing] the doom of the Soviet Republic.”64

In the unified party, Kun and the communists were a distinct minority. Before the revolution, the HCP had numbered approximately 30,000-40,000, but now they were submerged in a mass party that reached 1.5 million members.65 The new party dwarfed the pre-war social democrats as well. Many of the working-class members were no doubt enthusiastic and sincere, but also politically uneducated. No doubt many careerists found their way into the party, but on the whole this rapid expansion threatened to dilute the party’s working-class character.

Under the Soviet Republic, many new unions were organized and all their members were automatically enrolled in the party. The communists believed that this strengthened the role of the trade union bureaucracy over the working class.66 This fear was not unfounded since the union leaders did act as a brake on the radicals and kept their distance from both party and state. The growth of the unions coincided with the decline of unemployed and soldiers’ organizations, previous bastions of communist strength.67 All this meant communists had difficulty controlling the unified party organization.

The division between the socialists and communists found its way into the revolutionary government, which reduced its ability to provide clear and united leadership. In April, Kun managed to remove the distinction between deputy and full commissars, lessening the socialist majority in the RGC. This increased the number of communist commissars to thirteen out of thirty-four. At the same time, Kun also played a moderating role in the government in the hopes of gaining concessions from the socialists. As a result, he was willing to sideline radical communists: “With the cooperation of Landler, Garbai, and Bohm, Kun gradually excluded the leftists from sensitive positions in the Revolutionary Governing Council… exiling the leftists to the peripheries of power.”68 This did little to win Kun any support from the socialists and only served to alienate the communist left.

The struggle between the two factions continued at the first congress of the united party held in June. Out of a total of 327 delegates, at most 90 were communists. A majority were socialist trade union officials.69 Once more the communists were outnumbered by the socialists. Kun’s proposed program was vague enough to be adopted by the delegates without much debate. A more contentious issue arose over the party name. The socialists did not want to mimic the Russians, so they objected to the name “communist party.” A compromise was reached and the clunky name of “Party of Hungarian Socialist-Communist Workers” was adopted.

Tibor Szamuely and Béla Kun in Budapest

Another point of contention was on the issue of the dictatorship of the proletariat. Speaking for the socialists, Kunfi advocated a more “humane” approach and a retreat from terror and socialization.70 Discussion on the issues of national minorities was shelved. The socialists gained a victory when trade union delegates were granted voting rights that superseded those of party delegates. The election of the party executive committee showed the extent of communist isolation. They held only 4 seats out of 13.71 For the time being, the socialists and communists maintained an uneasy unity as the revolution faced its most desperate hour. In the end, the experience of the Hungarian Soviet Republic would see Lenin proven correct:

The evil is this: the old leaders, observing what an irresistible attraction Bolshevism and Soviet government have for the masses, are seeking (and often finding!) a way of escape in the verbal recognition of the dictatorship of the proletariat and Soviet government, although they actually either remain enemies of the dictatorship of the proletariat, or are unable or unwilling to understand its significance and to carry it into effect.72

The merger between the socialists and communists granted the former an unearned “soviet” and “revolutionary” facade, meaning that the working class remained under reformist hegemony. Due to the factionalism between the socialists and communists, the Soviet Republic provided inconsistent revolutionary leadership and its policies were often poorly conceived, driving many potential supporters into apathy, if not the camp of the counter-revolution. Coupled with the communists’ own mistakes, the shot-gun marriage with the socialists effectively tied their hands during the duration of the Soviet Republic. It was a fatal error.

The Peasantry

The majority of the peasants were hungry for land and determined to get it by any means necessary. If the new Soviet Republic wanted to stay in power and not be strictly urban-centered, then it was imperative for them to transfer land to the peasantry. This was precisely what the Bolsheviks had done two years before. However, the communists had no intention of doing so. Both the HCP and MSZDP were completely indifferent to the demands of the peasantry. Béla Kun, like Rosa Luxemburg, viewed the Bolshevik’s land reform as an unnecessary concession to the petty-bourgeois tendencies of the peasantry. Instead, the Soviet Republic favored nationalizing the land outright. This dogmatic approach to land reform was one of the shoals that doomed Soviet Hungary.

Kun and the Soviet government believed that Hungary was more advanced than Russia and could immediately create socialist agriculture. On April 3, the RGC nationalized all medium and large-scale estates, affecting more than half the land in Hungary.73 Considering it would take time to fully create state farms, cooperatives were set-up in the interim. The cooperatives needed capable administers to run them and ensure that production continued. However, the only ones with the necessary experience available to the Commissariat of Agriculture were the old bailiffs and owners. The Soviet’s appointment of their old oppressors to positions of authority provoked bitter resentment among the peasants, who believed that nothing had fundamentally changed.74

The Soviet’s policy to the countryside alienated all strata of the peasants. The landless peasants who worked on the new state farms enjoyed higher wages than before, but they were paid in worthless currency, sparking indignation and protests.75 Poor and middle peasants saw the government’s abolition of land taxes as the first step to nationalizing their holdings.76 Wealthy peasants were opposed to the revolution from the very beginning and the decree only confirmed their opposition.

In June, delegates of the National Association of Agricultural Workers opposed the Soviet Republic’s treatment of the peasantry. The main agenda of the conference contained no discussion on land redistribution or Soviet policy in the countryside, but the peasant delegates protested so loudly about them that the meeting was abruptly ended.77 Two weeks later, protests erupted once more at the National Congress of Councils. The delegates complained about the Soviet bureaucracy and the overzealous commissars, and they demanded genuine land reform. Urban communists, supposedly servants of bourgeois Jews, were condemned as alien to the peasantry.78 The conference showcased the unbridgeable chasm between the countryside and the city due to the Soviet Republic’s rural policies. In the waning days of Soviet Hungary, opposition to Kun’s peasant policy developed, but as Hajdu notes, it was too late by then: 

In the more passive Transdanubia and the area between the Danube and the Tisza it proved easier to carry through the ideas that had the support of higher authority. Later, in the final weeks of the revolution, two corps’ commanders, Landler and Pogány proposed the division of some of the land in order to increase the enthusiasm of peasant soldiers, but it was too late by then.79

However, one must keep in mind that the Soviet Republic’s approach toward the countryside was not determined solely by ideological concerns but also by short-term expediency. The population of Budapest and other urban centers were starving. The Red Army needed to be fed in order to fight. This meant that Soviet Hungary needed to find a way to feed the urban centers and the troops. While the government seized food stocks, this was not enough and it was necessary to requisition grain from the countryside. This caused resistance from the peasantry, who either hid food or destroyed it rather than surrender their stocks to the Red Guard.80

Not all the failures of Soviet Hungary in the countryside can be laid at the feet of the government. The new regime inherited a legacy of ignorance, superstition, and feudal backwardness, which could not be changed overnight. Fear of the cities and its “godless” ways was deeply ingrained among the peasantry. Peasant fears of atheistic communism seemed to be confirmed by the communist program of secularization and attacks upon the cultural power of the Catholic Church. The Red Terror and fanatical commissars sent from Budapest only made the situation worse. As a result, the landlords, army officers, and priests who led the rural counterrevolution found willing supporters among the peasantry in the struggle against the forces of “Judeo-Bolshevism.” According to William O. McCagg: 

“anti-semitism was a unifying feature of the counterrevolution in Magyar Hungary, which, oddly enough, featured efforts to bring landed gentry and peasant together on a common anti-urban ideological platform.”81

Kun and the communists’ belief that socializing agriculture would win them the support of the peasantry backfired spectacularly. They mistakenly assumed that rural class antagonisms overrode the desire for land. The communist line managed to combine the worst of both worlds: stoking fear in the wealthy peasants and alienating the poor peasants. There were few practical benefits gained in the countryside from the Soviet Republic’s laws. State farms were marked by corruption, inefficiency, and poor productivity. In many respects, Hungarian agriculture under the Soviet Republic was simply the old order painted a light shade of red. While a better approach to the peasantry would not have saved Soviet Hungary from military defeat, it would have made the victory of counter-revolution far more difficult.

Cultural Front

On March 21, Georg Lukács was in Budapest delivering a lecture entitled “Old Culture and New Culture.” During the lecture, Tibor Szamuely burst into the room and announced to the audience that the MSZDP and HCP founded the Soviet Republic. The lecture broke up as the excited crowd went out to celebrate. Only in June was Lukács able to finish his lecture, which he delivered as the inaugural address for Marx-Engels Workers’ University that he helped create. In his remarks, Lukács stated:

Liberation from capitalism means liberation from the rule of the economy. Civilization creates the rule of man over nature but in the process man himself falls under the rule of the very means that enabled him to dominate nature. Capitalism is the zenith of this domination; within it there is no class which, by virtue of its position in production, is called upon to create culture. The destruction of capitalism, i.e., communist society, grasps just these points of the question: communism aims at creating a social order in which everyone is able to live in a way that in precapitalist eras was possible only for the ruling classes and which in capitalism is possible for no class.82

By now, Lukács was People’s Commissar for Education and Culture, and he intended to realize that vision. The Hungarian Soviet Republic aimed at was nothing less than a “cultural revolution” whereby culture would be made available to the working class. The Commissariat’s rationale was as follows: “from now on the arts will not be for the sole enjoyment of the idle rich. Culture is the just due of the working people.”83

Literacy Poster

To that end, the Soviet Republic socialized the movie industry and museums. They also confiscated the bourgeoisie’s private art collections and put them on public display on June 14.84 The Commissariat passed decrees making attendance at theaters cheap and available to the public. These performances included not only works like Shakespeare, Ibsen, Hauptmann, and Shaw, but new avant-garde plays by workers.85 During the life of Soviet Hungary, concerts and lectures proliferated.

While Lukács was devoted to the communist cause, he was no cultural philistine and possessed classical tastes. He wanted to ensure that the classics were mass-produced and within easy reach of the people. The Commissariat created mobile libraries in order to deliver literature to the workers. Lukács also commissioned translations of Marx’s Capital, Shakespeare, and Dostoevsky into Hungarian. The number of books produced by Soviet Hungary was impressive. By June 1919, 3,783,000 copies of books and pamphlets were printed in Hungarian and German along with nearly 6 million more in Croatian, Romanian, Slovak, Serb, and Hebrew.86

Whether musicians, scholars, painters, intellectuals, actors, or writers, there was genuine enthusiasm for the goals of the revolution. One such was the actor Bela Lugosi, later known for his work on Dracula (1931). He was one of the organizers of the National Trade Union of Actors, set up in April. In the union’s first issue Színészek lapja (Actors’ Journal), Lugosi took issue with the view that actors were not proletarians:

It is that 95 per cent of the actors’ community has been more proletarian than the most exploited worker. After putting aside the glamorous trappings of his trade at the end of each performance, an actor had, with few exceptions, to face worry and poverty. He was obliged either to bend himself to stultifying odd jobs to keep body and soul together … or he had to sponge off his friends, get into debt or prostitute his art. And he endured it, endured the poverty, the humiliation, the exploitation, just so that he could continue to be an actor, to get parts, for without them he could not live. Actors were exploited no less by the private capitalist managers than they were by the state …The actor, subsisting on starvation wages and demoralized, was often driven, albeit reluctantly, to place himself at the disposal of the former ruling classes. Martyrdom was the price of enthusiasm for acting.87

Lugosi was one of the thousands of cultural workers who saw the Hungarian Soviet Republic as the chance to make art that was no longer subjected to the imperatives of capital and to instead use their creativity to serve the people. There is little wonder why so many cultural workers, including Lugosi, were forced to emigrate after the Republic collapsed.

Béla Lugosi

Despite the short life span of Soviet Hungary, it was one of the pioneers in revolutionary film production. Under director Sándor Korda, forty films were completed ranging from ones based on works with strong progress content by Maxim Gorky, Alexander Dumas, Victor Hugo, and Upton Sinclair. Other films produced included newsreels and communist agitprop.88 In April, a Proletarian Academy was set up, headed by writer and stage manager Dezső Orbán with the goal of training workers for a socialist film industry. One film the academy produced was the agitprop film Tegnap (Yesterday), which was written and directed by Orbán.89

One of the ways that the Soviet Republic promoted its revolutionary goals was the use of colorful posters. According to Robert Dent, the poster was ideally suited to this task:

During the 1919 Hungarian Soviet Republic, the poster functioned as the propaganda means par excellence. Its striking power of expression and exhortation involving red, with figures in dramatic poses was recognised as being worth more than a thousand words. Revolutionary placards were everywhere, on almost every wall of almost every street. The quantity is difficult to imagine today. A large proportion were in colour, and red certainly dominated. Each had a clear message to convey and pictorially was simply presented.90

One of the biggest cultural displays of Soviet Hungary occurred on May First – International Workers Day – when Budapest was covered in red. Few expenses were spared as the RGC commissioned musicians, sculptors, writers, actors, and other artistic professions to create a true festival of communism. Slogans, posters, songs, banners, statues, and poems were located everywhere in Budapest for the historic day. A half-million marched through the city that day in a festival of the oppressed. Considering that the Soviet Republic was barely a month old and facing military disaster, the May Day celebrations showed the genuine enthusiasm of the new regime to the arts.91

Soviet Hungary not only raised the cultural level of adults but ensured the education of the next generation. Therefore, all schools were nationalized, tuition fees were abolished, and education was made free and compulsory for all until the age of 14. The Soviet Republic also instituted laws promising free medical care for all children. Schooling was taken out of the hands of the Church and controlled by the State. Lukács said it was a point of pride that children began their days with breakfast, not prayers.92 The curriculum was reorganized, dropping classical languages and emphasizing instead modern languages, and natural and physical sciences. The history curriculum was radically restructured with a new focus on class struggle, internationalism, and Marxism. Teachers were given pay raises and hastily instructed in the works of Marx, Engels, and Bukharin. The Soviet Republic believed that teachers were vital to the creation of future citizens with communist virtues. According to Commissar Kunfi: “The schools from now on will become, through the efforts of teachers, the most important institution for the training of socialism.”93

One of the most innovative education measures the Soviet Republic introduced was sex education for primary school students. To the revulsion of the bourgeoisie, children were instructed in free love, the nature of sex, and the archaic nature of the traditional family. According to one critic, Victor Zitta, the Soviet Republic’s educational policy was “something perverse” and that Lukács was a “fanatic . . . bent on destroying the established social order.”94 The hasty introduction of sex education and the severe backlash it resulted in its removal from the curriculum.95 

There were severe limitations to the Hungarian cultural revolution. Due to the ever-present threat of counterrevolution, the Soviet government censored publications. Many of its cultural programs and ideas were ad hoc and too ambitious to be implemented during the brief existence of Soviet Hungary. To many of its conservative critics, the Soviet government accomplished nothing when it came to culture. The reactionary Cécile Tormay said Marxists like Lukács “kill literature in Hungary.”96 Even as the official Commissar for Culture and Education, Kunfi condemned Lukács’ approach for showing “an absolute barrenness of our cultural life.”97

These criticisms were decidedly unfair. For all its mistakes, the Hungarian cultural revolution was truly innovative. Far from destroying culture, commissars like Lukács were truly committed to ensuring that the people finally had access to it. The Soviet Republic did not impose a rigid Stalinist-style orthodoxy but rather allowed a hundred flowers to bloom. Lukács believed that everything, save openly counterrevolutionary works, should be promoted:

The People’s Commissar for Education and Culture is not going to officially support any kind of literature tied to a particular line or party. The Communist cultural programme only makes a distinction between good and bad literature, and is not prepared to throw out Shakespeare or Goethe on account of their not being socialist authors. But neither is it prepared to let loose dilettantism in art, under the pretext of socialism. The Communist cultural programme stands for the highest and purest art reaching the proletariat and is not going to allow its taste to be corrupted by editorial poetry badly used for political purposes. Politics is only the means, culture is the goal.98

In the end, Soviet Hungary showed the real potential that socialism offered in creating a new culture.

‘Long live the proletarian dictatorship!’ Temporary communist monument in Budapest

Red Terror

From its inception, the Hungarian Soviet Republic faced real threats from both internal and external counter-revolution. Based on the recent experiences of Russia, Germany, and Finland, Kun believed that terror was necessary:

If you want our revolution to avoid bloodshed, to cost only the minimum of sacrifice, and to be as humane as possible- although for us there is no supra-class “humanity” – then it is necessary to act in such a way that the dictatorship is exercised with the utmost firmness and vigour . . . . Unless we annihilate the counter-revolution, unless we wipe out those who rise up with guns against us, then it will be they who will murder us, massacre the proletariat, and leave us with no future at all.99

The suppression of counter-revolutionary revolts was the task of the Red Army. To institute terror on the home front, the old judiciary was swept away and replaced with revolutionary tribunals. The revolutionary tribunals drew their membership overwhelmingly from the working class: 90 percent of the revolutionary tribunal’s members in Budapest were workers and in the provinces, more than 75 percent of their membership were either workers or peasants. The tribunals mostly focused on severe crimes such as murder and theft, but they had the added duties of defending the Soviet Republic against conspiracies and counter-revolutionary agitation.100 However, the tribunals did not dispense summary justice. Defendants were entitled to legal defense. Many of the new lawyers were drawn from the working class. Of the 4,000 condemned by the tribunals, only a quarter was convicted of counter-revolutionary activities. Another quarter was convicted for violating the prohibition on alcohol and the majority of them were simply fined. In total, only 27 were executed following the tribunals’ verdicts.

Considering the desperate circumstances facing Soviet Hungary, the tribunals were often an encumbrance to carrying out terror. On April 21, the government allowed Szamuely, Commissar of War to bypass the tribunals and he was granted vast powers to use to safeguard the revolution: “in the service of this objective, to rely on every  possible instrument, including doing without revolutionary tribunals.”101 Similarly to Trotsky, Szamuely was a man of action who traveled on an armored train throughout the countryside to dispense summary justice.

Tibor Szamuely

Szamuely’s squad also carried out requisitions of food and livestock to relieve the food shortage in the cities. While Szamuely’s cadre were generally disciplined and honest in their actions, they were an exception to the rule. Other communists kept the peasants in a state of constant terror with hangings and requisitions. As word of these excesses reached Budapest, Kun and the other commissars tried to rein them in, but their orders were often ignored.102

To complement Szamuely’s efforts, Commissar of Internal Affairs Ottó Korvin created a 500-member political police force. The secret police largely functioned autonomously and relied on a network of spies among the working class to keep a close watch on suspected enemies. The “Hungarian Cheka” was a feared agency that carried out preventive arrests, torture, and seized hostages.103

Affiliated to the Cheka and acting as Szamuely’s personal guard were the much-dreaded “Lenin’s Boys,” who acted as muscle against the counterrevolution. Lenin’s Boys were under the command of József Cserny and composed of approximately 200 devoted workers, communists, and sailors. The unit had their own distinctive style with leather jackets, scarfs, thick scaly caps, and an almost romantic swagger. Among both the peasantry and the bourgeoisie, Lenin’s Boys had a reputation for blood-lust and depravity. According to Cécile Tormay, they were “a gang organized for common wholesale murder and robbery.”104 They were accused of wanton torture and murdering the bulk of the 500 victims of the Red Terror. The fearsome image of Lenin’s Boys was more a product of myth than reality. According to Tibor Hijadu, the acts of terror carried out by Lenin’s Boys was quite mild: 

These  leather-jacketed ‘terrorists’, who looked most romantic, no doubt did much more to curb the counter-revolution than the Red Guard, thanks also to the bloody rumours spread about their deeds. The truth is they killed altogether 12 people other than such as had been condemned to  death by a court, including three gendarme officers who had taken part in  counter-revolutionary conspiracies, and, at the start of the Rumanian attack when they collected hostages from the ranks of the bourgeoisie, three well-known politicians, two earlier Secretaries of State — the Holláns — and Lajos Návay, who had been Chairman of the House of Representatives.105

Still, moderate social democrats in the government such as Vilmos Böhm were dismayed and outraged at the Red Terror. To them, it appeared more as an excuse to loot and plunder than a defense of the revolution. By late April, the socialists presented an ultimatum to Kun to cut back arbitrary police measures or risk a split with the trade unions. Kun gave in to their demands. The police detectives dismissed by Korvin were reinstated, the Lenin Boys were disbanded, and control of the secret police and Red Guard was transferred to the socialist József Haubrich.106

Kun’s appointment of Haubrich would prove to be a stroke of good luck. In June, counterrevolutionary forces composed of ex-officers, war veterans, and cadets planned an anti-communist coup. After learning that the socialists under Böhm were planning their own insurrection for the same day, they launched their own putsch first. The coup failed to attract support from either the factory workers or the Red Guard. Haubrich made sure that Red Guard remained loyal to the government. Due to a complete lack of coordination among the coup plotters, the uprising was crushed within a day. In response to the June 24 coup, radical communists demanded the creation of a powerful Cheka and true red terror. Both Kun and the socialists equivocated on those demands. The socialists preferred to show leniency to the coup plotters. Szamuely and Korvin were incensed and reconstituted Lenin’s Boys, but the unit was quickly disarmed and dispersed.

Lenin’s Boys

As the Soviet Republic approached its final days in July, the proliferation of coup attempts took on ridiculous proportions. One effort was led by Szamuely, with Kun’s implied support, which planned to overthrow the socialists and create a truly communist government.107 Their preparations were cut short when another coup plot led by 200 anarchists financed by Ukrainian officers was uncovered. The abortive anarchist coup was quickly dispersed on July 19.108

While the communists were correct that force must be met with force, Red Terror did not save the Soviet Republic. In fact, the Red Terror was carried out in a contradictory and confused manner and subject to the shifting politics in Budapest. However, atrocity stories of the Soviet Republic were largely the product of the counterrevolutionary imagination, who believed that godless Jews were ravaging innocent Hungary. Certainly, it is true that many communist commissars did have fantasies of bloody retribution and at least 500 people were killed.109 However, the Red Terror was not indiscriminate and targeted enemies with weapons in hand. According to Béla Bodó: “In Hungary, the political violence during the Council Republic was focused: the great majority of the victims of the Red Terror died with arms in their hands or were executed shortly after the suppression of uprisings.”110 Far more deadly was the White Terror that followed the overthrow of Soviet Hungary. Fired by a frenzied hatred of “Judeo-Bolshevism,” mobs of soldiers such as those led by Pál Prónay, put the Red Terror to shame. The White Terror launched a campaign of torture, humiliations and summary executions across Hungary against communists and Jews which killed upwards of 4,000.111

“Long Live the World Revolution!” May Day in Budapest, 1919

World Revolution

a. The Beachhead

When speaking before the Budapest Workers’ Council on March 19, MSZDP leader Sándor Garbai asked the executive to endorse the creation of a Soviet Republic. According to Garbai, the pro-Entente policies of both Károlyi and the socialists had failed Hungary, leaving them only with Russia for aid:

We must obtain from the East what has been denied to us by the West. We must join the stream of new events. The army of the Russian proletariat is approaching rapidly. A bourgeois government…will not be able to cope with these new developments…Therefore, we must bring about peace between the Social Democrats and the Communist Party, create a Socialist government, and institute the dictatorship of the proletariat…[then] we shall announce to the entire world that the proletariat of this country has taken the guidance of Hungary and at the same time offered its fraternal alliance to the Soviet Russian government.112 

Garbai’s argument won over the Budapest Workers’ Council without debate.

In March 1919, Hungary was completely isolated and alone in Central Europe, facing hostile imperialist and local powers. For the socialists, as much as army officers, a military alliance with Soviet Russia was seen as the only way to save Hungary. To symbolize the pro-Russian orientation of the Council Republic, Béla Kun was given the position of Commissar of Foreign Affairs. Both the socialists and communists hoped that Kun could secure Russian military and diplomatic assistance.
While Kun worked diligently to secure Russian help, he believed that Soviet Hungary could not survive in the long-term without international proletarian solidarity. On the day after the formation of the Soviet Republic, Kun outlined this vision in his address “To Everyone”:

[Soviet Hungary] declares its complete theoretical and spiritual union with the Russian Soviet government and welcomes an armed alliance with the proletariat of Russia. It sends its brotherly greetings to the workers of England, France, Italy and the United States. It calls on them not to tolerate, even for a minute, the horrid gangster war of the their capitalist governments against the Hungarian Soviet Republic. It calls the workers and peasants of the Czechoslovak state, Rumania. Serbia and Croatia to join in an armed alliance against the bourgeoisie, against the great landlords, and against the great dynasties. It calls on the workers of German-Austria and Germany to follow the example of the Hungarian working class, to completely break their ties with Paris, to join in an alliance with Moscow, to establish soviet republics and to oppose the conquering imperialists with weapons in their hands.113

It was Kun’s hope that working-class solidarity, strikes, and sabotage in the Entente countries and Romania would halt military operations against Hungary. Even more, he wanted Hungary to spread world revolution. This was a realistic gamble since central Europe was simmering with proletarian revolution in 1919. At this time, there was real hope for a socialist revolution in Germany since a Bavarian Soviet Republic was formed in early April. If Soviet Hungary joined together with Soviet Bavaria, then they could prevail. It was Kun’s intention to instigate a working-class uprising in Austria in order to secure the central European revolution. Together, the proletarian dictatorships in Austria, Hungary, and Germany would not only end the isolation of Soviet Russia, but defeat the Entente and spread socialism across the continent. 

‘Join the Red Army!’

b. Austria

In many respects, the conditions in Austria were similar to those in Hungary. In November 1918, the Hapsburg Empire collapsed in Austria and the old Imperial Army was replaced by a People’s Militia or Volkswehr, a working-class militia who wore red cockades. Workers’ and soldiers’ councils were created alongside a bourgeois government. The moderate Austrian Social Democratic Party (SDAPÖ) dominated both the councils and was in a coalition with liberals in the new republican government. Like the MSZDP, the SDAPÖ used their influence among the masses to curb the revolution and stabilize a parliamentary democracy. According to leading SDAPÖ member and Foreign Minister Otto Bauer, the social democrats was uniquely suited for this task:

Only the Social Democrats could have safely handled such an unprecedentedly difficult situation, because they – enjoyed the confidence of the working masses. . . .Only the Social Democrats could have stopped peacefully the stormy demonstrations by negotiation and persuasion. Only the Social Democrats could have guided the people’s army and curbed the revolutionary adventures the working masses. . . . The profound shake-up of the bourgeois social order was expressed in that a bourgeois government, a government without the participation in it of the Social Democrats, had simply become unthinkable.114

The chances for a proletarian dictatorship in Austria were high in 1918 and 1919, but the SDAPÖ decided against it. Otto Bauer wrote a letter to Béla Kun on June 16, 1919, explaining why SDAPÖ decided against creating the dictatorship of the proletariat. Bauer explained that Austria could not supply itself with food in the event of an Entente blockade and they could not rely upon Russian aid. Secondly, an Austrian Soviet Republic would likely provoke military intervention that they could not survive due to their weakened army. Lastly, the peasantry were opposed to revolution and would turn against Vienna, precipitating a bloody civil war.115 Every point Bauer raised was a real concern, but he forgot one thing: revolutions require a willingness to risk everything in order to win. In forfeiting their chance at a socialist revolution in Austria, the SDAPÖ doomed Soviet Hungary to defeat. As the Austrian revolutionary Ilona Duczyńska concluded:

…the final rejection of any seizure of power by the proletariat, again on the grounds of subjugation and destitution, occurred at an historical juncture in which the formation of a block of revolutionary states might have been possible. In such a framework, German-Austria, with its very considerable stocks of armaments, could have been the bridge between two Councils’ Republics: the Bavarian and the Hungarian, which were struggling valiantly at the very borders of Austria, but in isolation.116

Even though the SDAPÖ were averse to following the Hungarian example there were revolutionaries who were eager to do so. The most important was the Communist Party of Austria (KPÖ), formed on November 3, 1918 under the leadership of Elfriede Friedlander (later known as Ruth Fischer) and Franz Koritschoner. The KPÖ was smaller than its Hungarian sister party and it was overshadowed by the SDAPÖ. The communists’ small amount of influence was largely confined to radical soldiers, the unemployed, a minority in the workers’ council of Vienna.

Amongst the Austrian workers was a strong sense of sympathy for the Hungarian Soviet Republic. On March 23, the Central Workers’ Council of Vienna published a resolution declaring their sympathy for the Hungarians, but refused to follow their example:

You have appealed to us to follow your example. We would do this wholeheartedly, but we cannot do so at this time. There is no more food in our country. Even our scarce bread rations depend entirely on the food trains sent by the Entente. For this reason, we are enslaved to the Entente. If we were to follow your advice today, the Entente capitalists would cut off our last provisions with cruel mercilessness and leave us to starvation…Our dependence on the Entente is total . . .

Long live international workers’ solidarity!117

While Austria was willing to maintain trade relations with Soviet Hungary and even offer verbal support to the revolution, that was as far as they were willing to go. Not all Austrians were willing to stand paralyzed with inaction before the Entente, however. Approximately 1,200 Austrians volunteered for the Hungarian Red Army with a third of them dying, including Leo Rothziegel of the Viennese Soldiers’ Council.118

Despite the KPÖ’s small size, they were determined to take power in order to aid the Hungarians. On April 18, the communists launched a putsch in Vienna. Several hundred armed demonstrators attempted to set fire to parliament. In the ensuing firefight with the Volkswehr, approximately 10 were killed and a further 30 were wounded.119 It proved to be an utter fiasco.

Undeterred by failure and widely exaggerating the revolutionary situation that existed in Vienna, Kun wanted to push events along. Soon, the Hungarian embassy in Vienna became a center of revolutionary propaganda. In May, Kun sent Ernö Bettelheim to work with the KPÖ and finance their activities.120 Abusing his position, Bettelheim took it upon himself to usurp the leadership of the KPÖ by proclaiming himself the official emissary of the newly-formed Communist International, who was charged with organizing an Austrian Revolution.

Bettelheim planned another coup for mid-June in order to coincide with the National Assembly of Councils in Budapest and the Red Army’s offensive into Slovakia.121 A pretext for the uprising came when the Entente demanded that the Volkswehr be reduced by onefourth. The KPÖ successfully organized a number of demonstrations against the pay reduction. Alarmed, the Austrian government persuaded the Entente to rescind their demands. Buoyed by their triumph, the KPÖ went ahead with plans for an uprising on June 15. Warned of communist plans, the Social-Democrats arrested the KPÖ leadership on June 14. Bettelheim escaped the dragnet and remained at liberty. Soon, Vienna was flooded with leaflets calling for insurrection:

The hour for the emancipation of the proletariat has come! . . .

On Sunday the 15th. of June at 10 a.m. the revolutionary workers will demonstrate for the setting up of a soviet dictatorship, against hunger and exploitation, for social revolution!

Every member of the People’s Militia has the duty to participate in this demonstration with weapon in hand…

Long Live the Soviet Republic of German Austria.122

The Workers’ Council of Vienna and the Volkswehr opposed calls for revolt. On June 15, only five to ten thousand came out in the streets of Vienna in support of the KPÖ. The demonstrators attempted to release their comrades from prison, but they were met by the police. After 20 were killed, the communist demonstration was defeated. Comintern representative Karl Radek was scathing in his criticism of Bettelheim’s actions: “The messiah of the Budapest bureau of propaganda did not have a glimmer of the meaning of communism; every word of his charge against the German-Austrian Communist Party proves this… The vanguard of the German-Austrian proletariat, the communists, frustrated during the June days the putschist tactic of the Bettelhelms. They did not plunge themselves into the adventure of the Soviet Republic without Soviets.”123 The coup was not only a disaster for the KPÖ, but the end of Kun’s dreams of spreading revolution to the west.

Communist coup attempt in Vienna on June 15, 1919

c. The National Question and Romania

Kun wished that the various successor states of the Austrio-Hungarian Empire would support Hungary. To show that the Soviet Hungary had repudiated Magyar nationalism, the revolutionary government proclaimed its internationalist ideology and adopted the communist red flag as its “national flag.”124 Béla Kun even went so far as renouncing the principle of Hungarian territorial integrity. While these gestures were sincere, Soviet Hungary failed to adequately deal with the nationality problem they inherited from the Hapsburgs.

The Hungarian constitution outlawed national and racial oppression, and supported cultural autonomy for all nationalities. There was an uneasy mix of nationalism and internationalism in the constitution with the latter taking precedence. According to Tibor Hajdu: “The Hungarian Soviet Republic took the principle of the self-determination of peoples as its basic stance, but this principle was applied to concord with the conception of world revolution.”125 Thus, the Soviet Republic’s treatment of different nationalities was inconsistent to say the least. On the one hand, Germans were able to gain autonomy while the Slovenes lost theirs. On the other hand, Translyvanians were condemned as “hirelings of Rumanian boyars” and denied autonomy.126 The Croats were also denied cultural autonomy and complained about chauvinistic behavior emanating from Budapest. Their concerns were ignored, meaning that counterrevolutionaries had greater sympathy in Croat territories.127 As a result, its internationalist efforts remained limited and the Hungarians were unable to win over sizable numbers of non-Hungarians inside and outside its borders.  

When it came to nationalities, the question of Romania loomed large. Romania was an immediate threat, militarily aided by the Entente and its troops were deep inside Hungarian territory. Wounded national pride about Entente support for Romania had brought the Soviet Republic to power and motivated many of the officers and soldiers of the Red Army. The communists also opposed Romania since it was openly counter-revolutionary, fighting against soviet power in both Hungary and Russia. However, sympathy for Soviet Hungary existed in the Romanian labor movement. In April, Romanian railroad workers launched a general strike against intervention leading to hundreds of arrests.128 Yet most Romanian socialists were opposed to Bolshevism and severed ties with Budapest.129

A small minority of Romanians based in Hungary were attracted to communism, and in November 1918, they formed the Romanian Communist group in Budapest. In early 1919, they began operating in Romania, organizing peasants and returning veterans in Oradea. The Romanian communists received scant support from the HCP and they alienated the peasantry by attacking the church and downplaying the importance of nationalism.130 As a result, they were largely unsuccessful in their efforts.

When the Hungarian Soviet Republic was formed, the Romanian Communist group hailed it as the harbinger of world revolution. Unfortunately, Romanians suffered a great deal of Magyar chauvinism. This hampered the Communist group’s effort to organize Romanian volunteers for the Red Army.131 On June 8-9, Romanian Communists in Budapest “complained that Magyar chauvinism had not disappeared from the Socialist movement in Hungary and that they as Romanians were continually subjected to discrimination.”132 The Romanians insisted that Hungarian socialists live up to their egalitarian convictions and treat them as equals. A few days later Hungary declared itself a federal republic and the Romanian communists were promised organizational autonomy, a split between the two nationalities was avoided. This gesture was too late since there was little growth in the Romanian Communist Group during the final weeks of the Soviet Republic. In the end, the Hungarian Soviet Republic’s confused approach to the national question and its lingering chauvinism meant it failed to win over large numbers of Romanians to its cause.

d. Slovak Soviet Republic

Czechoslovakia was one of the neighboring states that was at war with Hungary. While the Czech Social-Democrats supported Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk’s government and the war effort, the war was unpopular not in Slovakia, which had a large Hungarian minority.133 Opposition to the war manifested itself in demonstrations and draft resistance. In response, the Czechoslovak government imposed martial law and arrested real and suspected communists en masse.

Considering the large number of Slovaks living in Hungarian borders, Kun believed it was imperative to win their support. To that end, a joint Czech and Slovak committee was organized in Budapest under the Czech journalist Antonín Janoušek on March 27. The committee also had the mission to recruit Czechs and Slovaks for the Hungarian Red Army.134 This only achieved moderate success with 200 Czechs joining the International Brigade of the Red Army. A final goal of the committee was to spread proletarian revolution to Czechoslovakia itself.

On May 20, the Hungarians launched a major offensive against the Czechoslovaks. Even though the Romanians posed a larger threat, a number of factors determined their decision to move against Czechoslovakia. First, the Hungarians believed that the Czechoslovaks were militarily weaker than the Romanians. Second, Czechoslovakia had a larger industrial working class than Romania, whom the Hungarians expected to welcome their troops as liberators. Finally several industrial regions in Nógrád and Borsod in Czechoslovakia were considered essential to the health of Hungary’s economy.

The Hungarian offensive went well and the Red Army occupied large swaths of Slovakia. On June 16, the Slovak Soviet Republic was created with its capital in Kassa. The Slovak Soviet Republic was clearly a Hungarian creation. The Revolutionary Governing Council was headed by Janoušek and other Slovak communists from Budapest staffed the government. No plans were made for Slovak self-determination and new state planned to federate with Soviet Republics in Russia, Hungary, Ukraine and Czech lands.135 The Slovak Soviet Republic passed decrees nationalizing industry and large estates, granting universal suffrage for workers, abolishing debts for small farmers, and creating old-age pensions. All decrees were published in regional dialects so that ordinary people could understand the new laws. A rudimentary Slovak Red Army numbering 3,000 was also hastily created.136 The fact that the Slovak Soviet Republic had been imposed by Hungarian guns more than local revolutionaries meant it had a very thin basis of popular support.

Hungarian Red Army in Budapest

Despite the successes of the Hungarian Red Army, their supply lines overextended and its morale dropped as they occupied a hostile population. It was clear Hungary could not maintain itself in Slovakia for the long-term. The Entente was frightened at the Hungarian advances into Slovakia and wanted them to withdraw. On June 16, French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau sent a message to Budapest, promising that Romania would evacuate Hungarian territories in exchange for the Red Army’s withdrawal from Slovakia. Considering the critical situation at home, the socialists demanded acceptance of Clemenceau’s terms. Like the Bolsheviks at Brest-Litovsk, Kun believed that it was necessary to buy time and agreed to pull the Red Army out. In early July, the Red Army retreated from its captured territories and the Slovak Soviet Republic left with it. Kun’s decision ended up being a fatal strategic error. The pull out not only damaged Hungarian national pride, but led to many desertions from the Red Army. The agreement did not end the war. In July, the Czechs and Romanians violated the agreement and renewed attacks on the Hungarians. Only weeks later, the Hungarian Soviet Republic collapsed.

e. Russia

Mere days before Károlyi resigned, he informed his cabinet that “in the judgment of the government’s military experts that it would be only a matter of weeks before the Russian Red Army would break through the Romanian lines and reach the eastern boundaries of Hungary.”137 Liberals, nationalists, and communists all hoped that the Russian Red Army would rescue Hungary.

For their part, Soviet Russia wanted to do everything possible in order to reach Budapest. However, the Romanian army not only stood in the way, but fighting in the Russian Civil War was at its height. Undaunted, Lenin ordered Vladimir Antonov-Ovseenko, the commander of the Ukrainian Red Army to halt his advance towards the Black Sea and move to southeastern Galicia in order to reach the Hungarians. Instead, the Red Army captured Odessa, then advanced on Moldova and Bessarabia, hoping to reach Hungary that way. Lenin demanded that the Ukrainian Soviet to have the Red Army attack Galicia, but once again he was ignored. On April 25, Lenin bypassed the Ukrainian Soviet and ordered Antonov-Ovseenko directly to launch the original plan of attack.138

The Red Army offensive was launched on May 7. Finally, as Kun had hoped, Russian deliverance was on its way. Unfortunately, disaster struck the following day when Partisan forces under Ataman Grigoriev switched sides and began fighting the Ukrainian Red Army. The partisans cut off the Red Army’s supply lines and bogged them down in heavy fighting. It took until the end of May before the partisans were defeated, only for the Red Army to be immediately confronted with a renewed offensive by the White General Anton Denikin.139 By late June, Denikin pushed the Red Army so far back that there was no chance they could reach Hungary.

The Entente and Versailles

In January 1919, the “Big Four” Entente leaders of David Lloyd George (Britain), Vittorio Orlando (Italy), Georges Clemenceau (France), and Woodrow Wilson (USA) arrived in Versailles to determine the fate of both defeated Germany and the shape of postwar Europe. Even as the delegates discussed the intricacies of the treaty, discussions were dominated by foreign affairs, particularly by the Russian Revolution. According to Arno Mayer “the Paris Peace Conference made a host of decisions, all of which, in varying degrees, were designed to check Bolshevism.”140

Despite the end of the war only months before, the Entente had not laid down their arms. The Allies had all sent troops and aid to the counterrevolutionary armies fighting the Bolsheviks. To keep communism from spreading, the Allies supported new nations in Eastern Europe as cordon sanitaire. Despite this counteroffensive, the Russian example inspired labor unrest and revolution throughout the European continent. The Entente also maintained blockades of food and other supplies as a form of blackmail against Germany, Hungary, and Austria in order to contain the “Bolshevik contagion.”

The Entente’s plans backfired in the case of Hungary. Both the blockade and the Vix Note had brought Béla Kun to power. Now there was a real danger that Bolshevism would spread further west. While Clemenceau favored direct military intervention against Hungary, David Lloyd George and President Woodrow Wilson favored a diplomatic solution. Kun gambled on an international revolution, but he was acutely aware of Hungary’s isolated position and the need to buy time. In one of his first statements, Kun offered an olive branch to the Entente: “The government stands for peace and wants to live in peace with all the world. Our road leads to true peace because we strive for an understanding of the peoples and not for the conclusion of military alliances.”141 Even though the Entente distrusted Kun, it seemed possible to reach a modus operandi with Hungary.

On April 4-5, the Allies sent South African General Jan Smuts to Budapest on a fact-finding mission and to meet with Kun. The soviet leader had a favorable impression on Smuts, who declared: “I liked Kun.”142 The Allies seemed open to moderating the Vix Note’s harsh demands and lifting the economic blockade. For his part, Kun appeared willing to bargain. Károlyi was astonished at the Entente’s concession and wrote bitterly from his self-imposed retirement: “Within a week the attitude in Paris towards Hungary had changed. … The Peace Conference sent General Smuts to negotiate. So what my Government had not been able to obtain in five months was granted to the Communists after a week.”143

Despite the promising meeting, no agreement was reached. Kun was not willing to commit and saw talks with Smuts as only the first step to further negotiations. Second, Kun could only accept the Entente’s proposal by undermining his own political position. Just three weeks before, Kun had come to power in defiance of the Entente’s demands. Third, there was no guarantee that the Entente would recognize Soviet Hungary. Fourth, at the time Kun was unwilling to make a “Brest-Litovsk” retreat like the Bolsheviks. He still expected an immediate outbreak of world revolution. And finally, Kun doubted the Allies’ sincerity and expected military intervention in any case. The Red Army was already arming and the day after Smuts left a recruiting rally of several hundred thousand was held in Budapest.144

On the last point, Kun was correct. While Smuts advocated for negotiating with Hungary, he was ignored by the Big Four. The Allies did not want to negotiate with Kun or grant Soviet Hungary any political legitimacy. The Entente had no intention of reaching any agreement with Soviet Hungary. Despite divisions among the Big Four on the best way to deal with Béla Kun, there was no disagreement on the end: the destruction of Soviet Hungary. According to Mayer: “Admittedly, [the Paris Conference of 1919] never elaborated and implemented a coherent plan for the strangulation of the Hungarian Soviet. On this issue, as on most others, the Big Four were far from unanimous. Their differences, however, were not over intervention as such. Within a broad anti-Bolshevik consensus they merely differed about the strategy, tactics, and scope of intervention.”145 Ultimately, they decided to use Romania as their military proxy. On April 6, French General Franchet d’Esperey arrived in Bucharest and reached an agreement with the Romanian army to begin operations as soon as possible. Ten days later, the Romanian offensive began.

Downfall

After coming to power, the Soviet leadership knew that they stood no chance against the Romanians or the Entente without a well-equipped, trained and disciplined army. One of the revolutionary government’s first measures was the creation of a Red Army. During its first few weeks, the Red Army was largely a phantom force. A lot of this can be attributed to the first Commissar of Defense, József Pogány. Pogány was extremely unpopular with his deputy Commissars Szamuely and Szántó. At the beginning of April, he was replaced by Vilmos Böhm.146

József Pogány speaking to Red Army soldiers

It is under Böhm that the Hungarian Red Army truly took shape. While the Red Army inherited 60,000 troops from the old army, most of those units were an advanced state of decay and needed to be reorganized. The Red Army could count on small numbers of volunteers drawn from the working class. These volunteers were devoted to the revolutionary cause, but they lacked both training and experience. To staff the Red Army, Böhm allowed all officers from the old regime to continue their service. Most of the officer corps came from the landlord class and there were justified fears that they would betray the Soviet Republic. Borrowing from the Russian example, the Red Army instituted a system of political commissars to ensure the loyalty of the officers. Some of the commissars, such as Lukács (assigned to the Red Army’s Fifth Division) were dedicated and brave, but most were incompetent and only added to the Red Army’s difficulties. By the time the Romanians launched their offensive, the Red Army was short of ammunition and medical supplies but had a fighting force of approximately 55,000.147

However, the Hungarians were out-manned and outgunned. The Romanians outnumbered them two to one and the Czechs three to one. The Romanians especially were armed by the Entente. The opening days of the war saw them both make major advances. The Romanians seized Nagyvárad and Debrecen. The Czechs took Sátoraljaújhely and continued to advance deeper into Hungary. At the end of April, the two armies linked up. The Romanians pressed onward and reached the River Tisza in early May. The Hungarians were disorganized and the Red Army lacked the same revolutionary determination as the Russians.

Believing that the Soviet Republic would be overthrown soon, Hungarian aristocrats and capitalists backed by the French created a “government-in-waiting.” On May 5, a “National Government” headed by Count Gyula Károlyi (a cousin of the liberal Mihaly Károlyi) was set up. The new minister of war was Admiral Miklós Horthy (future dictator of Hungary), who proceeded to organize a “National Army.” They were ready to not only move into the chambers of government in Budapest, but to take their revenge on the working class.

May Day Poster

As Budapest celebrated May Day, it appeared that the Soviet Republic was on the verge of collapse and Kun planned to resign. The following day, Kun told the RGC that the fighting ability of the Red Army was non-existent. Most of the RGC were resolved to fight on, but Kun believed that was not enough. Kun took the appeal to continue the war directly to the Budapest Workers’ Council and the Hungarian proletariat. He believed that unless the workers were willing to fight to the last drop of blood that Budapest would fall. He posed the question starkly: “The issue my dear comrades, whether we should hand over Budapest, or fight for it; whether the proletariat of Budapest should fight to maintain the dictatorship of the proletariat in Budapest?”148 The Budapest Workers’ Council announced the slogan: “Be a Vörös Hadseregbe!” (“Join the Red Army!”). The steelworkers union resolved to defend Budapest. Bright red recruitment posters filled the capital. Dedicated workers flocked to the Red Army. In mid-May, The Red Army had an additional 44,000 men were under arms for a total of 120,000. By early June, the Red Army’s strength peaked at 200,000 men.149 

The workers’ revolutionary flair translated into victories on the battlefield.  On May 20, the Red Army defeated the Czechs and liberated Miskolc and other places in the northeast. The Hungarian offensive continued into Czechoslovakia itself with the capture of Kassa on June 6. The Red Army had the Romanians bogged down and eventually forced them to retreat. In early June, Hungary had regained territories on its old borders and seemed poised for further advances.

However, Hungary could not hope to prevail against their combined foes in the long run and needed to end the fighting. As mentioned earlier, Kun accepted Clemenceau’s June 13 memorandum to withdraw from Czechoslovak territories in return for ending the war. The Red Army’s commanders opposed withdrawal since the memorandum offered no guarantees that the Romanians would withdraw. In protest, Böhm resigned and was succeeded by Jenő Landler as Commander-in-Chief of the Red Army. Aurél Stromfeld resigned as the Chief of Staff and was replaced by Ferenc Julier. Both Böhm and Stromfeld were correct. While an armistice was signed with Czechoslovakia on June 24, the Romanians had no intention of ending the war.150

At the beginning of July, Soviet Hungary had lost the majority of the previous month’s territorial gains. On July 2, the Romanians refused to recognize Hungarian borders and demanded the Red Army’s demobilization. The socialists believed that the situation was hopeless and put out peace feelers to the Allies. Kun and the communists remained determined to fight on. Universal military service was announced on July 20. The Comintern called for an international general strike on July 21 in solidarity with Soviet Hungary. Kun planned a last-ditch offensive to defeat the Romanians on the Tisza and repeat the same success as in May.

Due to betrayal inside the Red Army, the Allies and the Romanians knew about the planned offensive. After several days of bombardment from July 17-20, the Red Army crossed the Tisza and managed to retake Rakamaz. Yet this was only a fleeting moment of success. Hungarian efforts to outflank the Romanians failed and the Romanians managed to bring in reinforcements. On July 26, they launched a counter-offensive putting the Hungarians into retreat. The Romanians crossed the Tisza in a number of places and the Red Army was falling apart. On top of all of this the Comintern’s general strike failed. By this point, many socialists were prepared to negotiate with the Allies. The end of Soviet Hungary was only a matter of days.

Romanian cavalry entering Budapest in August 1919

On August 1, the RGC held its final session. Despite last minute appeals for final resistance by some communists, the decision was made to hand over power to a caretaker government of socialists. Once these administrative tasks were completed, Kun rose to deliver his farewell speech. In it, he absolved himself of blame and blamed the workers for betraying the revolution:

The proletariat of Hungary betrayed not their leaders but themselves. After a most careful weighing [of facts]… I have been forced to come to this cold sobering conclusion: the dictatorship of the proletariat has been defeated, economically, militarily and politically.

It need not have fallen had there been order here. Even if the transition to socialism had been economically and politically impossible…if there ha been a class-conscious proletariat vanguard [in Hungary], then the dictatorship of the proletariat would not have fallen in this way.

I would have preferred a different ending. I would have liked to see the proletariat fighting on the barricades…declaring it would rather die than abandon its rule. Then I thought: are we to man the barricades ourselves without the masses? Although we would have willingly sacrificed ourselves…would it have served the interests of the international world revolution…to make another Finland in Hungary?

In my opinion, any political change in this country can be only temporary and transitory in character. No one will be able to govern here. The proletariat which was dissatisfied with our government, who, despite every kind of agitation, kept shouting “down with the dictatorship of the proletariat” in their own factories, will be even more dissatisfied with any future government…

Now I see that our experiment to educate the proletarian masses of this country into class-conscious revolutionaries has been in vain. This proletariat needs the most inhumane and cruel dictatorship of the bourgeoisie in order to become revolutionary.

During the forthcoming transition period, we shall step aside. If possible, we shall endeavor to maintain class unity; if not, we shall fight with other means, so that in the future, with renewed strength, more experience, under more realistic and objective conditions, and with a more mature proletariat, we shall engage in a new battle for the dictatorship of the proletariat, and launch a new phase of the international proletarian revolution.151

Shortly after, Kun, his family, and close friends left Hungary by train for the border. They were fortunate Austria had granted them diplomatic immunity. Lukács and a small number of communists stayed behind in order to organize an underground communist party. Even before the Romanians reached Budapest on August 3, the counterrevolution had already begun. Nationalized firms were returned to their former owners, the Red Army was disbanded and the old laws were restored. Any trace of the Soviet Republic was to be erased.

Tibor Szamuely, Béla Kun, Jenő Ländler. Monument in Budapest

Aftermath

In reflecting upon the bourgeois denunciation of Red Terror, Peruvian communist José Carlos Mariátegui noted their cynical hypocrisy:

And, the good bourgeois, so concerned about the red terror, the Russian terror, are not concerned at all by the white terror, by Horthy’s dictatorship in Hungary; nevertheless, there is nothing more bloody, more tragic, than this somber and medieval period of Hungarian life. None of the crimes imputed to the Russian revolution can compare to the crimes committed by the bourgeois reaction in Hungary.152

For the next quarter-century, the Hungarian bourgeoisie under Admiral Horthy took its revenge upon the working class. The rule of capital was restored, unions outlawed and support for leftist ideas was greeted with prison or the gallows. More than 100,000 Hungarians were forced into exile.153 Among the victims of the White Terror were fourteen former commissars of the Soviet Republic, including Korvin and László. Szamuely was captured and committed suicide. Many other communists were able to escape Hungary and organize abroad. Unfortunately, loyal communists who ended up in Moscow such as Kun and Pogány were killed during the Stalinist purges of the 1930s.

In 1944, the Red Army entered Budapest, ending Horthy’s rule and creating the Hungarian People’s Republic, led by one of Kun’s former comrades, Mátyás Rákosi. However, People’s Hungary was a bureaucratic police state imposed by Stalinism. The new Hungary bore little resemblance to the Soviet Republic of 1919, which, for all its faults, was a genuinely revolutionary regime. When revolution reappeared in Hungary in 1956, it was only appropriate that it was supported by one of the giants of Hungarian Communism, Georg Lukács. Since the restoration of capitalism in 1989, anything associated with communism, including the Soviet Republic, was reviled and condemned.

This is the bourgeoisie’s judgment, but it should not be that of the working class. Soviet Hungary’s efforts merit a place of honor in the annals of working-class history and have many lessons for us today. The Republic of Councils truly was a heroic creation that proved that the working class could take the first steps to create a new world free from exploitation and oppression. However, Soviet Hungary’s revolutionary enthusiasm was not enough to enable them to prevail. They made many mistakes that we should remember: by unifying with the reformist socialists, the communists tied their hands and were unable to exercise clear leadership. Instead of challenging the reformists, the communists gave the socialists unearned prestige to the ultimate detriment of the revolution. The desire for unity should not be at the cost of revolutionary principles or denying the need for firm communist leadership. Lastly, Soviet Hungary had a partisan base of support in the cities among the working class and the intelligentsia. However, the Council Republic’s narrow workerism not only ignored the demands of the peasantry, but ended up turning many of them against the revolution. As Hungary proved, if communists desire victory, then they must represent and lead, not just the workers, but all of the oppressed and exploited in the struggle against capitalism. In our time where leftist politics have been reduced to a crass opportunism and a “kinder” capitalism, it is important to remember and emulate those who dared to do so much more. Despite their mistakes and final defeat, Soviet Hungary’s courage and daring remain an example of the true meaning of revolutionary communism.

Komsomol Life: Interrogating the Soviet Young Communist League with Sean Guillory

Donald sits down with Sean Guillory from the SRB Podcast to discuss the Komsomol, or Soviet Young Communist League, which was often one of the only organizations that provided a link to the early soviet state in many small towns. They discuss the way the early Soviet state was structured with attention to how soft and hard power was transmitted, communist values, gender relationships, the rebirth of social conservatism, and the meaning of comradeship.

 

Here’s a list of sources on the topic provided by Sean:

Anne Gorsuch, Youth in Revolutionary Russia: Enthusiasts, Bohemians, Delinquents.

Matthias Neumann, The Communist Youth League and the Transformation of the Soviet Union, 1917-1932.

Seth Bernstein, Raised under Stalin: Young Communists and the Defense of Socialism.

Sean Guillory, “The Shattered Self of Komsomol Civil War Memoirs,” Slavic Review, 71:3, Fall 2012, 546-565.

Sean Guillory, “Profiles in Exhaustion and Pomposity: the Everyday Life of Komsomol cadres in the 1920s,” Carl Beck Papers, no. 2303, 2014.

Sean Guillory, “We Shall Refashion Life on Earth! The Political Culture of the Young Communist League, 1918-1928,” PhD Dissertation, 2009.

For early access to episodes and other perks, you can support Cosmonaut on Patreon. We also recommend listeners support the SRB Podcast so they can continue the excellent work they do.

Terrestrial Shamanism against the Exterminist Leviathan

Renato Flores argues that a grand narrative is needed to unify and mobilize the exploited and oppressed against an exterminist world order. 

Early Bourgeois Revolution in Germany by Werner Tübke

I

The permanent news cycle paralyzes us. We wait in an anxious manner for the next push notification containing the latest breaking news item. It further spells our doom as a species. We share it on social media, screaming to the void that we are all doomed. We are validated. Tally up a few likes, regain some sanity, and wait for the next notification. International politics is predominantly reduced to a spectator sport and we can only watch in despair at how our side is losing: Bolivia, Corbyn, and the inaction on climate change after the Australian fires. Dreams of Fully Automated Luxury Communism (FALC) remain a fanciful hope for an earthly heaven, and not a practical political program. Instead, utopias are confronted by cruel reality. We are stuck on Spaceship Earth accelerating towards the dystopian future of exterminism outlined in the book Four Futures: neither the overcoming of scarcity nor the conquest of equality.1 

Already, the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse appear lined up and ready to head the exterministic state: Trump, Bolsonaro, Modi and Johnson. But these four are far from the final product Capital needs to keep on going, and in some ways are just throwbacks to an older era. For example, Bolsonaro has received wide attention for his role promoting settler-colonialism in the Amazon. But in the Americas, accumulation by dispossession is centuries old and cannot be understood as a new phenomenon. The future state that Capital needs is darker. One that manages a society where there are not enough resources to go around, provided the economic and power structure stays the same. One where climate change and the limits of ecology mean capitalism cannot appropriate Cheap Nature to keep on reinventing itself.2 One where there is a population surplus that must be first pacified and eventually disposed of to ensure the stability of the system. 

The combination of falling rates of profit, and a falling capacity to appropriate natural surpluses leads to surplus population. This concept was originally introduced by Marx, and is specific to an economic system. Because Cheap Nature is no longer as cheap, and production is overcapitalized, the wheels of capitalism are stalling. Within this framework, stating that there is a population surplus is simply reframing the fact that labor-power is being (over)produced in such quantities that capital cannot accomodate for a profitable use of it. The wage fund which would correspond to “normal” capitalist operation cannot pay the social reproduction costs. This means that the labor supply must be reduced, that is, the workers must be disposed of. 

It is necessary to distinguish the concept of surplus population in an economic system from the Malthusian “overpopulation” argument that has been around for some time. The latter is a thinly-veiled racist red herring that basically states: (1) there are too many people on Earth; (2) we have gone beyond Earth’s carrying capacity, and (3) to return to sustainability we have to drastically reduce the population. This is often done by encouraging poor and racialized people to have less children. Because it is logically simple, distributes the blame equally among all of us, and does not challenge the power structure, it is repeatedly promoted and given intellectual currency. But this argument fails to acknowledge that most damage to the environment is done by a fraction of the world’s population. These people, who mainly reside within the imperial core, unsustainably enjoy what was best theorized by Brand and Wissen as the imperial mode of living.3 The imperial mode of living relies on “the unlimited appropriation of resources, a disproportionate claim to global and local ecosystem sinks, and cheap labor from elsewhere”. If this imperial mode of living were substituted with a more rational and ecologically sound system of food and commodity production, more than enough resources exist on Earth to provide a decent living for all. 

With respect to surplus labor, the concept can bend in many directions. In a positive manner it promises freedom from toil. The automation utopians refer to “peak horse”, a real phenomenon: when cars were introduced, fewer horses were needed to draw carts around.4 Because of the declining demand for horse work, their population reached a peak in the early 20th century and declined after. The analogy is drawn to humans: it has become clear that the capitalist system cannot adequately employ large sections of the population, because these sections cannot contribute to profitability. In the global imperial centers, people remain underemployed in jobs which could perfectly be replaced by robots, or even eliminated. With this, the techno-utopians jump at the idea that advances in technology indicate that we have reached “peak humans” needed for production of essential commodities. Automation means that in the future we will need to work less. We will be in a post-scarcity society, and we will find a way of sharing the toils of labor adequately.

What the proponents of FALC fail to consider is that with automation, the surplus population might just as well be ignored or left to die. This is not a future designed by the Malthusian Thanos, the archvillain of the Avengers, who wanted to kill off half of the population selected at random. Instead, it will involve the isolation and elimination of the most vulnerable who no longer serve a purpose. The surplus population in the peripheries keeps on growing, becoming increasingly informalized and displaced from production, and at the same time forced to live in destitute housing, as Mike Davis studies in Planet of Slums. For millions of people, the costs of social reproduction aren’t being met, and they are either relying on the extended family and remittances from abroad, or simply waiting to die. On an individual basis, they can risk their lives to migrate towards the centers of capitalism. But the numbers are insufficient to provide structural relief. “Strong” borders make sure that the surplus population of the global South stays there, so transnational companies can reap the benefits of cheap labor.5

Instead of providing a fully automated future, the state returns to its basic skeleton of coercion and parasitism. And coercion can devolve into getting rid of the nuisance population that demands the means to live, but often has little to fight back with. There are several examples of this happening in history. The prime one is the recent fate of the Palestinians: in the 90s, due to the collapse of the USSR, a large number of Soviet Jews emigrated to Israel. They replaced the Palestinians at the lowest level of the Israeli class pyramid. This was very advantageous to Israeli capitalism, as it substituted cheap Palestinian labor, which had recently engaged in campaigns of civil resistance like strikes and boycotts, for more reliable workers. Palestinians were pushed out of the economy and slowly confined to their open-air prisons, which at the same time severely hurt their ability to engage in nonviolent campaigns.

An objection could be raised: Israel is not just a capitalist state, it is a settler-colonial state which attempts to erase Palestinians. Indeed, watching the working class in the Global North repeatedly vote to protect its privileges, it is tempting to adopt a “third-worldist” approach and deny that these classes are revolutionary at all, and that the potential for revolution lies in the Global South. However, these dynamics are barely contained to the centers of capitalism. Another current example is the role of Black people in Brazil. Brazil is similar to the United States in that it has a large black population directly descended from slaves. After emancipation, they were left in rural areas where opportunities did not abound. They chose to move towards the large cities (a Southward pattern in Brazil). In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, their homes were demolished, and they were forced into neighborhoods full of informal housing: the favelas, which grew steadily during the 20th century. Their inhabitants often worked informal jobs, but as Brazil’s economic situation worsened, they were pushed out of the economy and into progressively worse jobs and even the criminal market. To deal with this, the police are increasingly empowered to indiscriminately enact violence, to deal with crime resulting from these transactions. In a racist society, this results in thousands killed at the hands of the police yearly. 

So far, the picture painted does not differ much from the current situation in the United States, where police routinely kill people of color and walk away free. The murder of black councilwoman Marielle Franco is not that different from the murder of Black Lives Matter activists in the United States, if one sets aside the visibility of Marielle. But this would miss the point- more and more the quiet parts are said and acted out loud. Instead of Bolsonaro, who has his hands dirty in Marielle’s murder even if he denies it, we should be looking at another Brazilian politician. Rio governor Wilson Witzel was elected in 2018 on a platform of slaughtering “drug gangsters”. He has basically given carte blanche to the police to shoot on sight, and has proposed shutting down access completely to certain favelas. Witzel does this to wide applause, and it is not hard to imagine his reelection. 

In the case of Brazil, racism comes into play, and is weaponized. But there are other examples of exterministic politicians who do not force themselves into office in the Global South, but are elected. One of the most infamous is Filipino president Rodrigo Duterte, who won the national election on a platform of slaughtering “drug-dealers”. Before jumping to the national stage, Duterte was the mayor of the city of Davao, and served seven terms. The emphasis here is placed on the fact that despite being known to command death squads, he was repeatedly re-elected as mayor. Later, he was promoted to the national stage, where he won a national election with 39% of the vote out of an 81% turnout. This is the barbarism which Rosa Luxemburg warned us about, with voters clearly electing barbarism. In the exterministic future which awaits us we will have more figures like Duterte and Witzel, who will openly shoot the increasing number of marginalized people to protect an ever decreasing community of the free who enthusiastically vote for them. 

In the United States, the stage is set for something worse than Trump. Frank Rizzo, the police chief-turned-mayor of Philadelphia who supervised the MOVE bombing provides a historical example which was ultimately contained to just a mayoral position. The system produces many Rizzos, as a glance at any police “union” shows. Finding the cracks where stress will first concentrate in the US is not hard. Black and brown communities, both within the US and trying to access it will be prime cannon fodder. One just has to read history, or even the present news, to find that the list of affronts against them is long. However, the way the COVID-19 pandemic is being handled, and the inaction on climate change in the face of the fires in Australia, make it clear that the ruling classes do not care about any of us, and will do nothing to protect us from devastation if it inconveniences the death march of profit. The Climate Leviathan, an authoritarian planetary government led by a liberal consensus to adequately address climate change will never happen.6 The future where many Climate Behemoth states led by populist right-wingers, which simply refuse to deal with the structural problems of ecological destruction and population surplus, are much more likely. We are seeing this around the world, even in the centers of capitalism: rather than address the fires, the prime minister of Australia decided to outlaw climate boycotts. The time of monsters is coming.

II

Faced with this depressing prospect, how do we begin to organize? Postmodernism has repeatedly tried to kill grand narratives, while at the same time claiming the end of history has been reached. The underlying message was that class struggle is off the table. And it worked, for a while. But the house of cards is collapsing. The actually existing left is not prepared for the collapse of capitalism, often stuck in debates on theory that appear very important, but in practice make little difference in how they relate to the working class. Old-time socialists are disoriented as they face a working-class subjected to decades of ideological conditioning. They often forget that this is not the 20th century, and the same propaganda will not work. 

We are missing both a unifying ethics of sacrifice and collectivity, and a sense of how merciless and brutal our enemies can be. Until this is regained, the confines of ideology channel rebellion into a simple solution- giving our powers to a terrestrial shaman, through the sacred ritual of the ballot box. The shaman knows how to interface between the world of the commoners and the sacred world of the political. He or she can lead us to salvation if we trust and follow his lead.

Frida Kahlo, Moses, 1945

 

The shaman once again comes to ask us for our strength. We need to push him using all our might past the portal to take the sacred altar. Donations are requested, and we open our wallets. The most ardent canvass and phonebank to share the good news of “democratic socialism”. We study Salvador Allende and think, “well this time it could work, the US cannot coup itself?” And even if half the box of oranges is rotten, we believe that the bottom half must be good to eat. Once we get our shaman into office, he will be able to interface between the sacred and the common as long as we keep giving him our powers, delivering us to the utopia. Other kinds of shamans also draw from the collective, but our strength in numbers must be greater. We just need to show it in the ballot box.

But many cannot give their power through the ballot box ritual. And the other, darker shamans do not play fair. They control the tempo of the battle, and can cast their message across time and space much better. After all, the ruling class would rather have a dark shaman who doesn’t threaten its power than a red sorcerer who threatens capitalists profits. Our shaman plays by the rules of the game, and the most destructive weapons end up being unleashed by one side only. Even when backed by messianaic movements, Corbyn played fair, and lost. Sanders played fair in 2016, and also lost. Lula played fair, and was imprisoned to prevent his electoral candidacy. It remains to be seen what will become of the Sanders 2020 campaign, but the box of oranges is looking rotten. The dark shamans are able to weaponize our differences, to persuade others to give them powers. Our powers do not lie in the ballot box or within the constitutional framework at all. Until we achieve a grand narrative which not only includes all of us, the dispossessed, but speaks to all of us too, we are bound to lose again and again. Understanding this involves transcending the shamanistic and legalistic individual view to a collective, religious view of our historic mission of redemption and change. 

I would be accused, fairly, of abusing the metaphor when describing the current state of politics. But narratives can be the best way to get a point across. We often make sense of the world around us with the use of metaphors and imaginary creatures. Our fears are often turned into monsters, and fear of monsters provokes hatred. The Right knows how to transform the Other into the monster: the Jew, the immigrant, the Muslim, the black, the LGBTQ… all of them ruining our society. They are deviants and criminals, and once we get rid of them, we will all be more prosperous. This narrative crystallizes a dominant group. It legitimizes the exterminist state, delineating the “us” from the “them”. It propels our bright leader to power not just through the gun but also through the ballot box. Because “they” are sabotaging us, we are not doing as well as we should. And when the left lacks the power to counter this monster-making with its own mythmaking, it can feel immobilized. Coexist stickers are not sufficient to unify a mass, and without a collective vision, as people like Elizabeth Warren are discovering, policy proposals amount to nothing.

We could try and play the same game of monsters. But the power of demonic imagery in the hands of the dispossessed is somewhat limited unless it is deployed as part of a wider struggle. At its minimum, it serves as a substitution used to relate to capitalism when it becomes something sublime and out of our control. In this disorientation, the structures of power are often reimagined through the imagery of monsters. This has a long history both in England and the Netherlands in the centuries of the ascendant bourgeoise, and has seen use in Haiti through the image of zombie-slaves.7 It is also present  in contemporary Latin America and Sub-Saharan Africa, as each endures massive “structural adjustments” where the commons are privatized.8 

Monsters have served as valuable storytelling devices for progressives. Thomas Paine laid bare how the aristocracy was a cannibal system, in which aside from the first-born male everything else was discarded.9 In Frankenstein, the abilities of the new ruling class to lay claim to subaltern bodies and forming a monster provides a metaphor for the new factory system. Even before the Marxist analysis of capitalism, it was clear that the new proletariat of the nineteenth century was something historically distinct. The gothic, understood as the world of the desolate and macabre, was used to efficiently drive the political message home. It is not enough to understand something, dispossession must be felt. The warm strain of politics must be activated when the cold one is not enough, and as David McNally pointed out, they are still used in the Global South. While McNally focuses mainly on contemporary Sub-Saharan novels, he glances over the most effective present day example of this weaponizing: Sendero Luminoso’s use of the image of the pishtaco, a monster who would kill the children to rob them of their body fat so it could sell it in the market. Sendero was able to racialize the pishtaco as a white colonizer, and sow even more distrust of the Amerindians towards the white NGO workers. It was a key part of their Peruvian-flavoured Marxist story-telling.

At its best, Marxism with Gothic flavor appeals to the subconscious, making us feel the injustice, teaching us a primal instinct of repulsion to capitalism. It makes us gaze at the Monsters of the Market and understand that Capital lies behind them. Since his early correspondence with Ruge, Marx noted that he needed to “awaken the world from the dream of it­self”. Marx’s Gothic imagery in Capital and the Eighteenth Brumaire was a way of telling the story of capitalism, and the conflict between bourgeoisie and proletariat, in a way that spoke to us directly, and mobilized us. The description of Capital as a vampire remains as memorable as ever. 

Walter Benjamin took this much further.10 He wrote mainly in the interwar period- a time when psychoanalysis was a buzzword, and Lukacs had only recently published History and Class Consciousness in an attempt to link the subjective to the objective. It was also a time when the fascist monster was growing. Benjamin stressed the importance of imagery and revelation in bridging the gap between individuals and the collective understanding of capital. He brought insights from psychoanalysis into Marxism, and sought to break the hold of religion by means of what he called profane illumination– by intoxicating us with imagery to reach a revelation which inspires us. Heavily influenced by his Judaism, Benjamin sought out the historical memory for inspiration. By glancing at the Angelus Novus we understand that we must fight for the victims of Capital, to deliver a justice dedicated to their memory. In today’s world, we have no lack of sites to illuminate us: the lynching memorials; Standing Rock; the mass graves of the Paris communards or those of the Spanish Civil War; the river Rosa Luxemburg was thrown into; The Palace of La Moneda in Chile where Allende was murdered; the streets of the Soweto and Tlatelolco massacres; and of course the horrors of Auschwitz. The memory of the dispossessed stretches across time and space, waiting for justice. 

Angelus Novus, Paul Klee, 1920

III

Thomas Paine was not just trying to describe the kings as monsters, from which nothing could be expected except “miseries and crimes”.11 Paine also wrote, and attempted to put into practice, a political program for a better world. The formation of a mythology for the proletariat has been an integral part of the success of movements across the world. As Paine and Marx understood, gothicness is just the beginning. It gives us a way to tell a story which unveils the malice of our enemies, but we still require a positive force, a force of collectivity and millennialism to bring us together. Even the most mild form of leftist “othering”, the narrative of the 1%, presupposes the idea of a 99% that shares interests, and brings people together through their common dispossession.

Finding gaps in which Marxist ideology can be inserted has been one of the central research programs of Western Marxism. In essence, it articulates the Marxist view of the links between base and superstructure in a way that activates feelings, and the irrationality of being willing to suffer and die for a political program. The defeat of revolution in Western Europe came about from the strength of bourgeois ideology. It was able to perpetuate its hegemony. When the time came, there were not enough people willing to break their chains simultaneously. Many have written on this problem: Gramsci, Althusser and the Frankfurt School to name a few. After the Second World War, the golden age of capitalism provided a decent living for the working class in the centers of capitalism. Cultural critique or critiques of alienation were not enough to break the hold of the capitalist cultural hegemony. It could serve to identify weak points in societal cohesion, but it was never enough to inspire and guide a revolution. The Frankfurt School is an example of how critical theory can be divorced from practice when it is not grounded in class struggle. 

Liberation theology provides a counterpoint of what is possible when class struggle advances ideology even within a reactionary institution like the Catholic Church. Taking inspiration from the Bible, religious figures reinterpreted passages that warned about the idolatry of money. Priests articulated how capitalism does not match the underlying values of society, and so were able to speak in the language of the people without abandoning their faith. Liberation theology set alight the underlying tensions present in many countries, and was particularly effective in mobilizing people in Nicaragua, El Salvador and Brazil. It was only defeated by an unholy combination of the Vatican and US imperialism, and has been replaced by religious faiths with a counter-revolutionary ethos.

Today, pessimism is warranted. To the historical defeat in the centers of Capitalism, we must add the collapse of the Eastern Bloc as well as the century of Latin American tragedies, where only Venezuela and Cuba barely hang on. Under a deluge of ideology the masses have abandoned liberatory faiths and embraced anti-communist worldviews. Socialism in our lifetime appears impossible, and the totems of revolution we hold dear have changed. This generation no longer venerates Che the way previous generations did. Che was not just a martyr who gave up a comfortable life for the cause— he was also someone who won. In this time of darkness, the voluntarism of a Che Guevara, who not only demanded, but exemplified a new type of person, a person who could challenge the US empire with dozens of “Vietnams”, fades away.  

For a short while some heroic victories happened: US imperialism was forced to retreat from Southeast Asia and Nicaragua by guerillas. But this did not last. Today we look to more tragic figures like Rosa Luxemburg, and celebrate her supposed penchant for the spontaneity of the masses. We wait for the unplanned revolution, forgetting that Rosa was a tireless party organizer. A symptom indicating that we do not know where to begin. Somehow mass demonstrations against Trump and other right-wing populists are supposed to lead to a revolution, even when their politics are at best confused and the protestors hardly united by a material base. Those who praise spontaneity forget that groundwork has to be patiently lain, and even the most simple strike action requires tight organization. It is a wild dream to think that a social media hashtag will lead to the toppling of extremely resilient structures. 

IV

Culture changes rapidly. As E.P. Thompson relates in his Making of the English Working Class, the pre-revolutionary wave of the late 1700s took root mainly through two mechanisms: the establishment of the Correspondence Societies and the Dissenting churches. Unlike the French one, the second English revolution never took place as it faced a stronger ruling class. This ruling class acted to break these societies, and the story of the late 1790s culminates in the Despard execution of 1803. During the early 1800s, a counter-revolutionary culture war was also taking place. A new faith of poor and rich alike was disseminated, while serving the cultural hegemony of the ruling classes: Wesleyan Methodism. Encouraged and financed by the upper classes, it was a denomination that emphasized social order. This picture resembles the birth, growth and defeat of Liberation Theology in Latin America. The streets and mountains where Catholic priests would lay their lives are today full of the churches which have propelled extremist politicians to power in Colombia and Brazil. 

But English history offers us hope. The counter-revolution did not last forever, it was only a temporary sleep. The misery which caused movements to arise remained. After the cultural counter-revolutionary offensive wore off, Methodist churches provided an individual locus for community outside the official sanctioned channels. This was not the high Anglican church but a rough community center. Methodism would breed Luddites and Painites within its ranks. It became a path through which other rebels would rise up the ranks and use their organizing skills and access to the community to launch new counter-hegemonic offences. Some Methodist preachers became preachers of class consciousness, and explained how the values laid out by the church were opposite to those of Capital. They became involved first in the Luddite movement, and later in the growing Trade Union movement, over which they came into conflict with the church hierarchy. Chartists and Trade Unionists alike benefited from the organizer school that was the Methodist Church.12

Portrayal of the Luddites

Providing places where the dispossessed can come together and find their commonality is of utmost importance to the present socialist movement. Working-class ideology must be produced and reproduced. The German and Austrian Social Democratic parties of the late 1800s and early 1900s understood this, and built schools, sports clubs and all sorts of facilities in proletarian neighborhoods, which laid down the foundations for their success. While we might stare at the proliferation of churches in the American continent, and see them as a lost cause, the material roots that gave origin to liberation theology and many other working-class movements like the Poor People’s Campaign of Martin Luther King Jr. are still there, and will not disappear anytime soon. These communities will surely undergo re-radicalization. 

V

Shamans and totems provide an initial bridge to radicalizing people, because they break their social conditioning. But in the long run we cannot rely on the shamans because, even if they recognize that their power comes from us, we are tempted into the lie that without them we are nothing, and this gives them undue control over the movement. In fact, the opposite is true. They are nothing without us. Socialism is about collectivity, much more a religion than a magic. Magic is always a private thing, while religion relies on collective experience.

Today it is hard to ignore that religious feelings abound in the community that follows the terrestrial shamans. Bernie Sanders’ supporters do not care if the man is flawed, or if the odds are stacked against him. What matters is the process that brings them together towards political power. Their recipe is insufficient: the community needs to learn that their power lies not in their vote, but in their ability to stop the economy if they wish. By bringing people together in the same spaces, they are laying down the seeds for something bigger. The dispossessed need to realize that they already are bigger than the shaman who leads them. Shamanic movements suffer from the domination of a person. We can relate to this person, but he or she can have too much control over the movement and in crucial moments can initiate its downfall. Sendero Luminoso disintegrated after Abimael Guzman went from the invincible Inca Sun to a man behind bars. It was not their terrible treatment of other leftists within their territory, but the shattering of the shaman that ended them. We should ensure that a movement does not base itself on a leader but produces organic leadership. Otherwise tragedy awaits: Chavismo could survive Chavez because he actively trusted and followed the masses. Lula’s Sebastianism required the masses to follow instead of lead, which left the Brazilian Left disoriented and defeated, a situation that worsened after the personalist “Lula livre” demand was won.

The odds facing Lenin, Mao, Castro and Ho Chi Minh were never good. And the odds facing us today might be even worse. But by looking at history we can learn how they were able to unify, motivate and mobilize the people behind their program with grand narratives. These narratives are mixed and intertwined with religion, even if they are subconsciously secular versions of the prevailing faith. Demonstrating how the values of people do not correspond to the social system is a great weapon in the hands of organizers. Like Paulo Freire and Amilcar Cabral recognized, rearticulating and recreating our own culture is inherently revolutionary. The bridge to turn religions of the dispossessed into socialist movements is very buildable. In the West, Bloch understood this the best. In Latin America, Mariategui’s theorization surely had an influence on both liberation theology and Sendero Luminoso. 

The history of revolution is plagued by millennialism. From those who died in the German Peasant War demanding omnia sunt communia during the Reformation, to the North Koreans inspired to fight against unthinkable odds by Juche, a thinly-concealed revolutionary Cheondoism13, religion serves as an inspiration. Any serious revolutionary should explore his local culture, and weaponize cultural cues to show the dispossessed how to stand together, and make us aware that we’re all in the same fight. Of course, not all cultures and icons are built the same: for example, American nationalism is hardly redeemable, tied as it is to white supremacy. But most icons are mixed, with Chavez’s reclamation of Bolivar as a positive example. Whatever the case, inspiration is needed to break social conditioning, reinstall a collective ethic, and defeat the exterminists. 

This comes through understanding that the revolutionary fights for a terrestrial paradise, and makes the highest of wagers to do so. In today’s world, where religion remains the last relief of the masses, utopia and brotherhood blend in as a starting point. Religion has two sociological functions: integrating communities, and resisting change. The latter can be a double-edged sword, serving both a counter-revolutionary purpose and a revolutionary one, when people feel their entire livelihoods are being swept from underneath them. It is not strange to see that many revolutionary movements against accumulation by dispossession end up triggering religious feelings. There are many examples, from the earliest records of the new faiths sweeping Europe during the Reformation in the German Peasant War, to 17th century England, to more current examples across the world. It is hardly surprising that the hardest enemies of late-stage capitalism are indigenous people fighting for their lives. The rallying cry during the Standing Rock protests was to “kill the black snake”, the pipeline threatening water. The cosmovision in which water is life proved itself revolutionary when faced with settler-colonialism. It was armed to face the monsters of the market, and able to unify the dispossessed. We would be fools to ignore it.

 

Taking Stock: Electoralism vs The Capitalist Arsenal

In Part Two of his analysis of strategy for the modern-day left Hank Beecher takes a look at three recent case studies and tries to draw conclusions on how the left can move forward. 

Rent strike in NYC, 1907

 In polemics for and against electoralism, leftists of various stripes invoke historic examples as proof that theirs is the more plausible road to power. They analyze the Russian and Finnish Revolutions of a century ago and Allende’s Chile of half a century ago. Less attention is given to contemporary events that might inform us of how different strategies fare as engines of social transformation in today’s United States. Marx himself maintained in his day that a peaceful means of attaining socialism might be possible in the United States and certain parts of Europe. How might today’s social landscape in the U.S inform the question of an electoral road?

In Part I, I expounded on the problems with electoralist arguments against non-electoral means of building class power outside the state. I looked at how the climate crisis must be centered in our analysis of present material conditions. The climate crisis is one far-reaching aspect of a general crisis in the reproduction of capitalist social and ecological relations. Here, I look at how the struggle for power is playing out in the fissures opening as capital cannibalizes its own foundation. I explore how electoral struggles fare in addressing various facets of these crises, particularly when reform threatens the profits and hegemony of the capitalist class. Each of these cases focuses on an aspect of the intensifying crisis of social reproduction, specifically, the disintegration of working-class housing and the unraveling of the climate, each exemplifying some aspect of left electoralism and how the capitalist class fought back. In two cases, the left was defeated despite winning the electoral battle. In the third, the socialists prevailed but benefited from a long history of class struggle. 

These cases illuminate important tools in the capitalist arsenal against significant reforms. More importantly, they show how the landscape of power and regional contours of class vary immensely in the U.S. Thus an electoral strategy that is appropriate in one setting might be a counterproductive dead-end in another. Crucially, the power struggles that shape these conditions happen largely (though not exclusively) outside the state and are conditioned by uneven patterns of capital accumulation and crisis. Socialists and the working class must adapt our repertoire of tactics accordingly. Ballots, bullets, and various forms of strikes can all play a role and the need for each varies with context. What remains constant is the necessity of drawing the masses into the struggle for a socialist future.

CASE 1: Seattle Head Tax

Strategy

This case is a paradigm of a socialist electoral strategy combined with mass, grassroots mobilization in the streets. It details an event in which socialists leveraged the position of the most prominent socialist third-party politician in any major U.S. city as well as a robust local activist culture. Thus the campaign was two-pronged: electoralism + activist mobilizing. The site of the struggle is the city of Seattle.

Context

Seattle is a locus of concentrated investment in real estate and tech, exemplifying the highest peaks in capitalism’s uneven contours of development. In recent years it has had the nation’s sharpest increases in living costs, fueling skyrocketing rates of homelessness and displacement. Waves of capital have washed away the old city, residents and all, and replaced it with sterile citadels of glass.

The struggle

In 2018 the Seattle City Council deliberated ways to mitigate the crisis facing the city’s burgeoning unsheltered and rent-burdened population. As housing has become increasingly commodified, the built environment has grown more and more hostile to the needs of working-class residents. This problem is ubiquitous beyond Seattle and is a paradigm example of capital cannibalizing its own base. 

To raise a fraction of the money needed to diffuse the struggle for housing, City Council considered a modest tax on the thinnest top layer of the city’s richest companies. Seattle is an extremely business-friendly city with a tax burden that falls almost entirely on the working class, leaving corporations and the wealthy relatively unscathed. The city began deliberating a so-called Head Tax, which would negligibly shift that tax burden toward the capitalist class. The most fierce advocate for the Head Tax was Seattle’s sole socialist council member, Kshama Sawant. The tax was backed by community groups, most labor unions, and the more progressive wing of city council. The battle in the streets was led by Socialist Alternative, the party to which Sawant belonged, DSA, and the socialist-adjacent NGO Transit Riders Union. Flyers, rallies, press conferences, and canvassing monopolized the activist agenda. Every City Council meeting was packed beyond capacity. The tax was billed as the “Amazon Tax”, playing on the general public discontent toward the city’s largest business, which had transformed the landscape into a playground for the rich. The outlook was promising.

Then big business rebelled. 

Amazon’s Capital Strike

Amazon owns or occupies nearly a quarter of the office space in Seattle and its growth plans are robust in the region. It is a major driver of real estate development and its building projects employ thousands of workers, particularly in the building trades. When lobbying city council failed to obstruct the Head Tax, Amazon pulled a capital strike and suspended construction projects downtown. Immediately, an enormous swath of the area’s living-wage, blue collar economy evaporated. Though the building trade unions had already opposed the Head Tax, the threat to the stable livelihoods of fellow workers gave other unions’ bureaucrats justification to flip sides and join the capitalist revolt. For organized labor, opposing socialists became a matter of solidarity with fellow union workers whose livelihoods were at risk. Socialism was reckless radicalism that endangered the working class.

The capital strike and consequent revolt of union bureaucrats was enough to force City Council to blink. They immediately scaled back the proposed tax, halving its effective rate, further restricting the number of companies to which it applied, and setting it to expire after five years. The business community still objected to the diluted bill and socialist activists unleashed one of the most pavement-pounding public outreach campaigns in living memory. Against the continued opposition of capitalists and a growing share of organized labor, this weakened bill passed and the left claimed victory. It seemed the formula had prevailed: electoralism + mass mobilization = socialist victory. Unfortunately, big business had other plans.

Hijacking democracy

Ballot initiatives and citizen referendums are considered one of the best examples of direct democratic control of the state apparatus. Ballots remove legislative power from the hands of politicians and allow citizens to generate and enact policy reforms directly. In theory, citizens and community groups can draft and enact legislation themselves by gathering a certain number of voter signatures and passing the bill via majority vote. In appearance, such mechanisms are the purest example of direct-democracy in the legislative functions of the state. However, even these channels can be hijacked by capital to bring other, less compliant factions of the state to heel. Precisely this turn of events occurred after socialists in Seattle had achieved an electoral victory on the Head Tax. 

After the Head Tax was passed by City Council, a coalition of businesses, led by Amazon and Starbucks, immediately drafted a citizen referendum, or a ballot, to repeal it. However, they did more; they also snuck in a rider that would repeal an uncontroversial levy that was being used to provide desperately-needed funds to Seattle schools. In essence, big business offered city council an ultimatum: repeal the Head Tax or we will repeal it ourselves, and we’ll take away education funding along with it.

The business coalition poured in money, luring in canvassers from out of state. In exchange for each signature on the repeal referendum, the coalition paid amounts dwarfing what canvassing firms usually offer. It was a gold rush for canvassers who flooded into Seattle streets and spread patent lies about the Head Tax. If the socialist mobilization to enact the Head Tax was unprecedented, the frenzy unleashed by big business, through the very channels designed to empower the masses, was jaw-dropping. Within days it appeared the coalition would have the signatures to repeal the reform (and defund Seattle schools for good measure). City Council succumbed, and repealed the reform they had enacted only days before. The vote was 7-2 in favor of repeal. Socialists and those struggling for housing were defeated

Amazon’s capital strike weakened the bill and damaged the perception of socialists amongst organized labor. Not content with suppressing their potential tax burden, big business thoroughly captured the ballot apparatus to force an intransigent city council into compliance. The fiasco placed workers and tenants on opposite sides of a pitched battle for the right to the city. It also turned much of the organized labor force against socialists. Indeed, shortly after the fiasco, my Teamster local launched its own political action committee to use membership dues on campaigns to wrest Seattle politics back away from “socialists and left-wing radicals that are out of touch with what working people need.” With the region’s socialist groups largely composed of high-earning activists rather than organizers embedded in the daily lives of the working class, this narrative has been difficult to counter.

Conclusion 

While the electoral socialist movement in Seattle has not been permanently defeated, and Kshama Sawant did go on to win re-election and revamp her “Tax Amazon” campaign, consider the tactics and scale of revolt against a tiny business tax. Suppose socialists in Seattle completely consolidate electoral power. As they attempt to exercise state power in more drastic ways to enact an anti-capitalist agenda, it’s hard to imagine why the capitalist class wouldn’t simply expand and escalate its arsenal, particularly in a city whose economic well-being is so dependent on a handful of tech giants. If the Head Tax fiasco has taught us anything, it’s that when socialists don’t build class power outside the state and win over workers to the cause, even our successes end in defeat.

Seattle City Council during the Head Tax controversy

CASE 2: The Practice Coup in the American West

This case study looks at the failed attempts by the Oregon legislature to enact a climate bill in 2019. It details a complex struggle with many players and complicating factors, but for our purpose we will focus on a conflict between two forces: 1) a left/progressive movement that has consolidated state power, bolstered by the relatively democratic nature of state institutions that encourage high levels of citizen participation, and 2) a right-wing minority squeezed out of government but bolstered by uniquely well-developed anti-government militias. Thus the conflicts can be articulated as a state thoroughly captured by reform-oriented progressives vs a reactionary social movement. The conflict resembles a situation of dual power except that in this arrangement, the state is the more progressive force, and the second power, the “state-within-a-state”, is thoroughly reactionary. The former enjoy democratic legitimacy and, outside a few strongholds, the latter is mostly fringe. The particular manifestation of the struggle was a relatively tepid attempt at slowing climate change and softening its sharp edges. In the end, reactionary dual power prevailed. 

Progressive capture of the state

Regarding the first of these features, Oregon has some of the most democratic voting laws in the U.S. The actual process is uniquely easy and participation in elections is among the highest in the nation. In recent years, this characteristic has helped reform-oriented progressives come to dominate the state’s elected posts at all levels. Democrats hold a supermajority in the state legislature and the governorship, with many of these officials being committed to environmental stewardship. Local officials have been eager to respond to public pressure and place themselves as the vanguard of a new movement using local zoning laws to obstruct interstate and international fossil fuel development. Because of these efforts, they have been among the nation’s most innovative and formidable opponents of the fossil fuel industry.

At the national level, Oregon has proven itself to stand solidly to the left of most other blue states. In 2016, its electorate overwhelmingly voted for insurgent Bernie Sanders against establishment-favorite Hillary Clinton. In addition to taking the entire state by double digits, Sanders won all but one of the state’s counties. Furthermore, one of Oregon’s Senators, Jeff Merkely, became the sole federal Senator to buck party consensus and back Sanders over Clinton. 

Clearly, the situation in Oregon does not amount to socialist capture of state power through elections, but the situation remains informative. The state approaches universal suffrage, is decidedly to the left of the national liberal establishment, and has multiple institutions of popular power such as ballot initiatives. It is nearly a best-case-scenario for those seeking an electoral route to socialism. And while these qualities hardly amount to a socialist government, the counter-revolution would be even more intense against a truly leftist consolidation of state power. 

The “counter-revolution”

On the flip side, the Republican Party in Oregon has found itself increasingly backed into a corner. Indeed, if electoral success is an indication of a political movement’s legitimacy, the right-wing of U.S. politics has been profoundly delegitimized in Oregon. Facing this dearth in political power, the more reactionary segment of Oregon’s ruling class has begun formally and openly allying with the region’s Patriot movement. The ongoing fusion of state Republicans with reactionary paramilitaries increasingly threatens the more progressive currents within the government. 

In fact, in much of the Pacific Northwest, the Republican relationship with the Patriot militia movement is less a fusion of two separate political entities and more simply the “inside” facet of a two-pronged “inside-outside” strategy. As geographer Phil Neel details, the Patriot movement sees “resistance forming first in the far hinterland, where local residents can be organized into self-reliant militias and local governments can be won over to their cause to create a rural base of power, parallel and opposed to that of the federal government. These are the core unifying features of the group”.1 Thus Patriot militias and some Pacific Northwest politicians are in many cases flip sides of the same coin. Neel describes the “inside-outside” approach as follows:

This strategy puts an equally strong emphasis on “inside” work via formal administrative channels (facilitated by entry into local government and the Republican Party) in a way that synthesizes well with the “outside” work they do in defunded timber country or along the U.S.–Mexican border, where they prepare and establish parallel structures of power. While filling in the holes left by underfunded law enforcement in [rural Oregon], for example, Patriot-affiliated politicians were also leading the opposition to new property tax measures that would have allowed the hiring of more deputies. This, of course, helps to widen the funding shortfall further, helping extra-state militias to step in and begin building their own power within the county. The Patriot parties thereby seek to extend and secure the economic conditions for their own expansion.2

This strategy works by building networks of mutual aid and support in rural communities blighted by disinvestment, the loss of public services, the decline of extractive industries, and ecological collapse. Neel explains,

In the midst of a far-right movement dominated by Internet threats, spectacular street brawls and run-of-the-mill white male terrorism, the Patriot groups stand out owing to their focus on self-reliance initiatives. Faced with devastating declines in government services, many have stepped in to provide basic social services and natural disaster training. This is particularly notable in rural counties in states like Oregon, where the combination of long-term collapse in timber revenue and dwindling federal subsidies has all but emptied the coffers of local governments.3

As Neel insists, these organizers are already responding to the unfolding crisis in capitalism’s most neglected hinterlands. This strategy of building power where the state and capital has receded resembles the dual power strategy of leftist organizations such as Black Rose/Rosa Negra and Cooperation Jackson. As fissures emerge in the terrain of uneven development, organizers fill the voids with structures of mutual aid and counter-power.

For instance, when the government of Oregon’s Josephine County became so underfunded that it couldn’t pay prison guards or cops, the Sheriff was forced to release prisoners and warn citizens that their lives were in their own hands. Neel explains that in this context, the Patriots offered “community preparedness” and “disaster response” courses. They helped form parallel governance structures such as community watches and full-blown militias. They volunteered for community service, painted houses, built a handicap playground, and constructed wheelchair ramps for elderly or infirm residents.

The main feature differentiating this approach from a true dual power strategy is that it does not seek to establish the hegemony of the dispossessed. As Neel says, “While often winning the hearts and minds of local residents, these new power structures are by no means services necessarily structured to benefit those most at risk” (30). Indeed, much of the movement’s publicity arises from defending mining companies and ranchers against accountability to the federal government. Hence the reactionary character of the movement.

Much of the Patriots’ growth also flows from its intervention in rural land struggles. As Neel explains, it is most active in areas where disinvestment has altered the form of exploitation faced by most working-class people. Instead of corporations extracting surpluses through wage labor, the state extracts rents through various land-use regimes run by hostile agencies. But the Patriots’ growth go beyond building a base by “serving the people and fighting the power” in rural communities.

The Patriot movement has had notable success running candidates as Republicans in Oregon as part of its “inside” strategy.  In recent years, Republican Party officials in Portland, Oregon have voted to formalize their relationship with militias by using them as security against left-wing protestors. In Eastern Washington, another militia movement aiming to create a white ethno-state encompassing parts of Washington, Idaho, and Oregon has fused with factions of the Republican Party (though by-and-large, the Patriot movement has taken pains to distance itself from explicit white-supremacy). Thus, in western regions of the country where electoral politics is increasingly dominated by mostly-urban liberals, reactionary politicians and paramilitaries are merging into a counter-revolutionary, anti-democratic alternative.  

The Oregon political scene represents almost a best-case scenario for an electoralist seeking to capture state power and usher in a new era of progressive reforms. On the other hand, the social landscape of the Pacific Northwest is prime for counter-revolution. This context conditioned the outcome of a 2019 cap-and-trade bill that aimed to reduce the damage companies operating in Oregon could do the climate. 

Climate action and the practice coup

The climate bill was drafted by a coalition including community groups and the state’s oldest farmworkers union. It was backed by all nine of Oregon’s federally recognized tribes, the state’s utilities, and some major companies including Nike. Governor Kate Brown incorporated it into her most recent electoral platform and campaigned heavily on promises to sign it into law. 

When the Democratic supermajority introduced the bill, it was widely expected to pass. Republicans, who tend to represent counties devastated by the decline in extractive industries (primarily timber, which accounts for most of Oregon’s carbon emissions) intensely oppose virtually any action on climate change. They lacked enough seats in the legislature to pose any challenge on the floor. In response to their near-absence of formal political power, their options were limited. They chose to jettison even a pretense of democratic procedure at all. The sequence of events unfolded as follows:

    1. All the state’s Republican lawmakers refused to show up to work, denying the legislature a quorum to hold a vote.
    2. The governor instructed the state police to apprehend the absentee Republicans and bring them to the courthouse so the vote could proceed.
    3. Republican lawmakers went into hiding and fled the state, issuing death threats against any officer who came to apprehend them.
    4. Militias publicly pledged support for the Republican lawmakers in self-imposed exile, offering to defend them against the state.
    5. Democratic leaders expressed their intent to hold a special legislative session to vote in the absence of a quorum. 
    6. The heavily-armed militias assemble at the capitol as a threat to legislators in order to prevent the special legislative session.
    7. Fearing violence at the hands of the militias, Democratic leadership canceled the session and told lawmakers to stay home for their own safety.
    8. Two Democratic lawmakers defected and came out against the bill in order to de-escalate, entice Republicans to return from self-imposed exile, and to move on to other legislative priorities. 

It was later revealed that lobbying efforts by Boeing likely also played a role in peeling off Democratic support for the bill. However, it wasn’t until the situation escalated that Boeing’s lobbying efforts succeeded, and the Democratic lawmakers’ express justification for defection was to bring Republicans back to the table. Indeed, the outcome was no doubt a victory for Republicans and their allied militias and a defeat of the more democratic aspects of Oregon’s government. Thus, the events can only be understood as the political defeat of 1) an elected, reformist government enjoying broad public legitimacy and a popular mandate, by 2) an anti-democratic government-in-exile backed by reactionary paramilitary forces. Though the personnel within the legislature did not change in this course of events, it became clear who calls the shots. Despite widespread electoral success, the left and the working class lost. 

Conclusion

The growth and increasing boldness of the militia movement in the Pacific Northwest, along with its increasing fusion with the politically-cornered Republican Party, maybe a lasting trend. The rise of Trump has accompanied a metastasis of this social movement that defies historical precedent. Furthermore, the movement is finding purchase in conflicts which are emerging as the crisis in eco-social reproduction intensifies. The Bundy standoff was fueled by conflict over land use regimes on ecologically degraded range, unable to support the scale of commercial ranching it once did. The Malheur Reserve standoff of 2016 occurred in a region economically devastated by the decline of extractive industries. The proto-coup at the Oregon Capitol was fueled by state action to mitigate the climate crisis. It’s no coincidence that authoritarian measures have emerged as bourgeois democracy proves itself unable to resolve these and similar crises. As these crises unravel, such conflicts can only increase, as will the boldness with which the most reactionary elements in the capitalist class respond. 

Indeed, the events surrounding the climate bill can be seen as the latest escalation in the militia movement’s path to relevancy in the American West, as a stage in something like a counter-revolutionary protracted people’s war. While the 2014 events in the Nevada desert represented a successful challenge to federal sovereignty over an entire swath of desert, in 2019 the militia movement served as the paramilitary arm of an illegitimate party, successfully hijacking the legislative processes of an entire state. If this does not qualify as some sort of proto-coup, it certainly qualifies as practice for a real one. 

It would certainly be wrong to conclude from these considerations that the folks of the rural West are irredeemably reactionary. Indeed, as Neel explains, 

If white ruralites were as inherently conservative as the average leftist would have us believe, they should be flooding into far-right organizations in unprecedented numbers, demanding a platform for their racial resentment. But the reality is that [the] far right has only been capable of attracting newcomers in rural areas in a spare few locations.4

Yet despite the geographical limitations of their success, the Patriots have had an outsized influence on the politics of crisis from these strongholds. If leftists were as systematically engaged in similar rural base-building, we could perhaps reclaim the countryside as a hotbed of working-class radicalism.

It would also be incorrect to conclude the rural hinterlands should occupy the bulk of leftist efforts as they have for the far-right. Rural America is gradually emptying out and becoming depopulated as economic opportunity moves to coastal cities and the exurbs. Not only does the countryside contain fewer people; it also contains fewer strategic chokepoints in processes of capital accumulation. However, the rural working-class also cannot be ignored and must be involved in any project of social transformation. Islands of municipal socialism adrift in a vast sea of reaction will not get us to a just society.

Members of the Oregon militia

CASE 3: New Yorkers’ One-Two Punch 

In 2019 socialists and progressives in New York delivered a one-two punch to the real estate state. First, New Yorkers defeated an enormous power grab by Amazon when the company sought to plant its second headquarters in western Queens, at great cost to the city and its working-class residents. This defeat was an enormous blow to real estate speculators who had been banking on the deal to inflate the value of their housing portfolios. Then, after a wave of progressive officials swept centrist Democrats and Republicans aside in the 2018 state election, the legislature passed an enormous expansion of statewide rent control. The real estate and landlord lobbies remain up in arms as they’ve watched future profits evaporate. Both of these victories, though not perfect, represent the defeat of entrenched corporate interests, costing capitalists enormous losses in profits and power. 

The electoral efforts of socialists played a central role. In many ways, these victories are a paradigm case of the electoralist strategy of taking state power through elections, while applying mass pressure from below to keep officials accountable. In other ways, however, these movements leaned heavily on past projects of building immense counter-power which, though mostly absorbed by now into the bourgeois status quo, still retain varying degrees of social, political, and economic power. Few, if any, major cities in the U.S. are so decisively shaped by a turbulent history of incessant, organized class struggle at every level of society. The result is a labyrinthine knot of intertwined political and social actors for which even the world’s most powerful company was ill-prepared.

Amazon HQ2

The fight in New York against Amazon HQ2 was a fight for the right to the city. It was a fight against gentrification and a struggle over who decides the fate of the neighborhood. Socialist elected officials played a very visible role. While the deal was secured by the Democratic old guard, particularly Mayor de Blasio and Governor Cuomo, it was vocally and vociferously opposed by professed socialist Congresswomen Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez in the federal legislature and Julia Salazar at the state level. Indeed, these two high-profile politicians helped galvanize and legitimize a broader movement against HQ2. More importantly, long-time establishment politicians read the tea leaves and came out against the deal as well. After socialists ousted career politicians in the upper echelons of the region’s Democratic establishment, corporate centrists took the cue. Queens career politicians Jimmy Van Bramer and Michael Gianaris were crucial in luring Amazon to Queens in the first place. However, after DSA became a force to be reckoned with in Queens politics, Van Bramer and Gianaris pulled an about-face, coming out as the foremost opponents of the HQ2 deal. These political dynamics were likely crucial in Amazon’s defeat. The new progressive coalition of electoral socialists, community activists, and politicians with their feet to the fire helped deliver Amazon perhaps its first major defeat ever. However, by the company’s own admission, the deciding factor was something else.

The landscape of social and political power in NYC is far more complex than Amazon was prepared for. Unions are central to these contours. New York City has the highest union density of any major city in the US. The history of unionism in New York, as elsewhere, is a combination of radicalism, cronyism, corporate cooptation, and rank-and-file reformism. Some unions began as real institutions of working-class power. Others were permeated with anti-communism and xenophobia from day one. The result is a mass of intertwined bureaucracies permeating nearly every facet of local politics. On one hand, unions bureaucrats often serve as extensions of the managerial class, enriching themselves by overseeing a brokered peace between workers and the corporate class. To the extent that many do advocate for workers, they do so as a de facto extension of the state, negotiating and enforcing better laws for workers under their jurisdiction.

On the other hand, some unions retain the shells of their radical histories and provide space for workers to organize and collaborate. For instance, a good-cause firing provision in a contract between a union and company does not in itself increase worker militancy on the floor, but it provides a legal shield that permits workers to take greater risks in their organizing. Union halls also provide physical spaces in which workers can mingle and develop social bonds. Shop stewards often act as important leaders in building struggle. It’s no surprise, therefore, that unionized workers still often organize and win power on the shop floor and beyond. While the vast majority of union bureaucracies have been incorporated into the ruling class’s mechanisms of worker control, they certainly complicate the landscape of power and provide opportunities for building rank-and-file militancy.

The role unions play in NYC politics, particularly in the fight against Amazon HQ2, reflect these dynamics. Many unions, particularly the building trades and service sector unions, strongly supported the deal. However, the Retail, Wholesale, and Department Store Union (RWDSU) and the Teamsters adamantly opposed it. These unions proved to be perhaps the most central players in defeating the coalition of Amazon, Mayor de Blasio, and Governor Cuomo. Specifically, it was the union’s threat of organizing workers at Amazon’s most important logistic node in the city that slammed the door on the deal. 

Amazon has a documented history of anti-union tactics. When critics of the HQ2 deal pointed this out to Mayor de Blasio, he responded that New York City has a way of rubbing off on companies and that if they welcomed Amazon to the city, the company would change its ways. RWDSU called the bluff and announced an organizing drive at the company’s Staten Island warehouse, its most important footprint in the city. The union then publicly asked Amazon to agree to remain neutral and let its workers organize. The company refused. In public hearings, politicians opposed to the HQ2 deal reiterated the call for a neutrality agreement. Again, Amazon refused. There would be no union at Amazon, the company said, and that was final. The ongoing insistence by politicians, organized labor, and a few token workers ultimately proved to be more than Amazon could stomach. It backed out of the deal, the threat of unionization the most decisive factor in its retreat. The company, the governor, and the mayor were defeated by the threat of organized workers.

This account does not dismiss the importance of the electoral and activist coalitions that helped turn up the heat on Amazon. It aims simply to point out that more factors were at play. Crucial among these was the threat of organized workers and the knotted political and social contours formed by over a century of intense class struggle. Not every location has such a dense and intractable tangle of institutional and social power. However, it’s important not to divorce one side of the coin from the other. There is no doubt that the movement for workers’ power and the campaign by activists and politicians were synergistic and complementary. It seems unlikely either would have succeeded on its own. It’s also crucial to note that the vast majority of unions in New York City, and indeed in North America, are thoroughly co-opted by various sectors of bourgeois society and, though they may play a role in undermining corporate welfare deals, are possibly too compromised to play an immediate role in revolutionary transformation of society. 

The Battle for Rent Control

Rent control in New York has been characterized by a routine ebb-and-flow of tenant protections since the early 1900s. In the century spanning 1919 to 2019, rent control in the state swelled from nothing to its apex in the post-war period, before being chipped away by an unholy alliance of Republicans, centrist Democrats, developers, and landlords. By the early 2000s, the suite of rent control laws was virtual Swiss cheese, speckled with so many holes that landlords were spoiled for choice when it came to finding ways to deregulate their units and displace low-income renters. In 2018, the real estate industry appeared to be at the height of its power, with the city and state governments firmly in its iron grip. Then the tables turned. In a massive grassroots mobilization, community groups and leftist organizations hit the pavement, ushering in a “blue wave” to sweep the unholy alliance from power. Progressives and socialists took over the state legislature. For the first time in generations, comprehensive rent control appeared more than a pipe dream. Housing as a human right was back on the agenda. In 2019, the impossible happened: the real estate state was delivered a resounding defeat, as speculators and landlords saw future profits disintegrate before their eyes. If any contemporary event supports the electoralist thesis, this is it. 

However, we shouldn’t jump to conclusions too quickly. The most recent victory must be situated in the history of class struggle in the urban slums of New York and beyond. The oscillations of rent control directly mirror the historic contours of proletarian power. The 2019 victory amounted not to a leap forward for working-class renters, but rather to organizers clawing back victories won by radicals of a bygone era, reforms that eroded with the decline of class power in subsequent generations.

The first wave

Prior to New York’s first rent control law, immigrants and socialists had already been busy organizing tenant unions for years. The fight against landlords and real estate speculators was global in proportion, part and parcel of the international revolutionary ferment against capitalism. While Engels and many founding members of the Socialist International considered the housing problem to be an inevitable side effect of capitalism, radical socialists in urban centers viewed the fight against rents and evictions as a crucial terrain of revolutionary class struggle. As Mike Davis explains in Old Gods, New Enigmas, tenants from Petrograd and Berlin to Barcelona, from London to Glasgow, and from New York to Buenos Aires waged militant and persistent class war against landlords and real estate speculators for decades. These tenant movements were an extension of the broader specter of revolution and fused with radical labor unions and political parties. Rent strikes were common and increasingly vast. Davis explains,

the tenants’ movement in the Lower East Side was galvanized by the apartment shortage and rising rents that followed the construction of the Williamsburg Bridge in 1900, which displaced 17,000 residents. The socialist Daily Forward, the Yiddish- language newspaper of the Lower East Side, instigated the United Hebrew Trades, the Workman’s Circle, and the Socialist Party to organize a tenants’ movement that after a preliminary strike in 1904, regrouped under more strictly Socialist leadership for the ‘great rent war’ of 1907 in midst of a short but severe national recession. Jewish tenants in the Lower East Side, Harlem and Brownsville (a “Socialist stronghold”) hung red flags in their windows, battled police to prevent evictions, and mobbed the schleppers (movers). In the end, Robert Fogelson observes, “the strike fizzled out in January 1908,” but New York’s Socialist had learned important lessons: “The strikers would have to come not from one or two neighborhoods, but from dozens. They would have to include not just Jews, but Italians, Irish, Germans, and Poles – and even native-born New Yorkers.5

This movement, again, was simply the local manifestation of a wide-ranging assault against the capitalist class, a struggle spearheaded in many places by parties affiliated with the Socialist International. From Paris to Buenos Aires, tenants began to cohere as an important force against the more vicious advances of capital.

As World War I exacerbated crises of social reproduction, intensifying food and coal shortages in Europe and the U.S. Eastern Seaboard, urban struggles began to take on revolutionary dimensions. Crisis intensified class struggle. By 1919, socialists in New York had organized 25,000 tenants into the Greater New York Tenants League, which lead mass rent strikes at 500 buildings. As Davis details,

A massive rent war was fought out in a series of battles from 1917 to 1920 and spread across the East River from Harlem and the Lower East Side to Williamsburg and the south Bronx under the aegis of the Greater New York Tenants League. As news of the revolutions in Russia electrified New York’s tens of thousands of Socialist Party supporters, the “Bolsheviki rent strikes,” as landlords began to call them, sometimes took on the air of revolutionary rather merely reformist struggles.6

Around the same time, socialists were gaining a minority of seats in the New York legislature and introducing legislation for rent control. As Davis concludes, “Despite continuing repression of the Socialist Party followed by the infamous Palmer raids and the mass deportations of immigrant radicals, the stubborn movement ultimately prevailed, forcing the legislature in Albany to introduce rent controls in 1920 – a major and enduring working-class victory.” Rent control was such an affront to the capitalist status quo in New York that socialist politicians were forcefully purged from the state capitol, losing their seats in the legislature in something of a mini coup.

The movement to win the first rent control laws thus had at least three important local factors: 1) militant, socialist-led labor unions engaging in industrial action, 2) well-organized tenant unions engaging in mass collective action including rent strikes, and 3) socialist politicians pushing for rent control in the halls of power. 1) and 2) are clear examples of counter-power outside the state. All three, again, worked synergistically as catalysts for one another. Crucially, the movement was a local manifestation of a global revolt against capitalism, one that reached its zenith with the Russian Bolsheviks and sent the threat of revolution rippling across the world. 

The second wave

As the 20th Century continued, so did this dynamic between tenants, militant labor unions, and elected officials. In the 1930s, the movement was led by Jewish socialists in the Bronx and black communists in Harlem. Accelerated by new crises of social reproduction intensified by World War II, coalitions of leftist labor unions, militant tenant unions, and civil rights groups waged collective struggle in the streets, and left-wing politicians again won office and brought the fight to the capitol. After a full-fledged riot paralyzed large tracts of New York City, rent control became the only viable option to quell the passions of a well-organized and angry working class. Again, the synergy between counter-power outside the state and electoralism won the day.

Then came the erosion of class power. This synergy animating the working class began to collapse shortly after the civil rights movement. The fusion of militant labor unions and robust tenant associations that defined much of the first half of the 20th Century, particularly in New York City, is a perfect example of what Jane McAlevey calls “whole worker unionism”. It is a cornerstone of real working-class power. In essence, the worker exists not only in the workplace, but also in homes and neighborhoods. Accordingly, social reproduction is just as much a terrain of working-class struggle as is what occurs on the shop floor. But as the mid-Century subsided, unions largely took a turn towards brokering peace between workers and companies, trading class militancy for legal contractualism pertaining strictly to bread-and-butter issues in the workplace. 

As the labor movement purged itself of communists and leftists, union bureaucracies willingly transformed into institutions of bourgeois hegemony. Thus the movement for tenant power was severed from the very organizations that once fought for the whole working class in its multifaceted existence. Only the shells of independent class power remained. This provided an opening for the forces of real estate capital to chip away at the hard-won reforms. By the turn of the millennium, hundreds of thousands of units had been deregulated and rent control was in terminal crisis. 

The third wave

In 2019, these weakened rent control laws expired. The opportunity presented itself not only to renew but to strengthen tenant protections and close the loopholes that had been opened over the previous decades. In the years leading up to this moment, the Upstate-Downstate Housing Alliance emerged. It is a coalition of tenant associations, unions, unsheltered New Yorkers, and community groups. It incorporated many of the shells of independent class power that had been developed over the course of the 20th Century, as well as groups that had emerged during the Great Recession and the Occupy Wallstreet movement. The group drafted the platform that would ultimately become the bill that strengthened rent control. To support this bill, the Alliance mobilized masses of housing-insecure New Yorkers to hit the streets and take the fight to Albany. Subsequently, groups within the Alliance such as New York City DSA martialled unprecedented swarms of volunteer canvassers to knock on doors, register voters, discuss rent control, and encourage residents to vote for socialist and progressive candidates. Efforts paid off. Left-leaning candidates swept the state legislature. In June of 2019, the majority of the Alliance’s platform became a reality. 

Conclusion

It’s easy to conceive of these events as a vindication of the electoralist strategy. In many ways, they are. But three points stand out. First, socialists won the legal precedent for rent control, indeed the entire framework and the foundational laws themselves, through decades of building independent class power outside the state and strategically engaging in electoral politics. Indeed, the original victories were won in the context of a global revolt against capitalism, the crisis of World War I, and socialists posing a viable threat of revolution to the elites in New York. As the threat of revolution waned and independent class power subsided, the forces of capital were able to weaken the once robust suite of tenant protections. Yet the remaining spaces created by past struggle remained as a scaffolding upon which today’s organizers could stand. In short, the fighters of 2019 stood on the shoulders of the fighters of 1919. In 1919, the threat to capital was global and revolutionary. Indeed, the victories of 2019 mostly just reclaimed and reinstituted what radicals had already won and subsequent generations lost. However, this was no small feat and we must not understate the role of electoralism in regaining these protections, or the synergism between electoralism and non-state power in early 20th Century New York.

Furthermore, many facets of the 2019 Alliance itself grew partially from the shells of past institutions of class power and from new organizations forged in the political, social, and economic fallout since the Great Recession. This points to the resiliency of worker-led institutions even after half a century of bourgeois cooptation. It also highlights the importance of crisis as a catalyst for working-class militancy. 

Finally, the dynamic between independent class power and electoral success illuminates how muddled the debate about electoralism actually is. Electoralists typically do not advocate electoral engagement as a sole strategy. They usually also advocate for grassroots pressure from below to keep politicians accountable. The question arises, then, what the difference is between building this grassroots power from below and working toward dual power institutions of working-class power, ones capable of posing revolutionary threats in times of crisis. To invoke McAlevey again, part of the difference might be between mobilizing and organizing (though even organizing alone is not necessarily revolutionary). Mobilizing, in essence, means turning out activists to hold rallies. It means getting masses of bodies into strategic places for one-off events. It is ineffective in most contexts. Organizing, on the other hand, means building lasting organizations in which the working-class members themselves participate in collective action that exerts material force. The latter is where class power lies, though organizing in itself is not necessarily sufficient for socialist transformation. It must also take on radical aspirations. It’s not just that without militant organizations posing an existential threat to the capitalist class, revolution is impossible. It’s that without an organized working class that can viably make this threat, even reforms fails. In the long term, electoralism isn’t even enough for reformism. 

Rent Striker in 1970’s NYC

CONCLUSION

This survey is not meant to be an exhaustive account of conditions in the United States. Indeed, it’s intended to demonstrate the immensely varied political terrain that exists. Whereas it’s unlikely that New Yorkers need to worry about proto-fascist paramilitary forces any time in the foreseeable future (except perhaps the NYPD), this possibility is on the horizon in parts of the American West. Furthermore, a company town like Seattle, in which an enormous share of economic activity flows from a tiny handful of mega-corporations, capital strikes are a predictable response by the ruling class to reforms that threaten bourgeois power. Leftists must be prepared to counter this economic power with economic power of their own and deep roots in the working class. On the other hand, some places have a history of radicalism that is deeply embedded in the social fabric, a history that has etched out spaces in which the working class can fortify itself and organize for protracted struggle and bottom-up pressure. Where such spaces don’t exist, they must be forged by organizing the working class into independent organs of class confrontation. 

The capitalist arsenal must shape our strategies and inform what tools we use. This arsenal is, in turn, shaped by uneven patterns of development and geographies of capital accumulation. For instance, at sites of intense capital investment, a capital strike is a powerful weapon the bourgeoisie can wield against the state and working class. This fact should temper our temptation to rely heavily on electoral campaigns. On the other hand, in regions that have already been shaped by chronic disinvestment, a capital strike is not in the cards, but reactionary, paramilitary violence might be. For regions in which the extraction of rents is the predominant form of exploitation, rather than extraction of surplus through wage labor, anti-government and land-based struggles can be a plausible entry point into socialist politics. On the other hand, where private investment in labor-intensive industries (such as logistics) is crucial to local patterns of capital accumulation, organizing militant rank-and-file labor unions is a more appropriate strategy. Finally, in areas squeezed by both forms of exploitation, such as areas rapidly gentrifying from an influx of real estate capital, tenant and workplace organizing may be comparably appropriate. In sum, our strategy, and what tools we use, must take account of the capitalist arsenal and history of conflict in our locality. 

We might conceive of the tools in the socialist toolkit to be bullets, ballots, and strike actions (both rent strikes and labor strikes). Indeed, depending on geographies shaped by the uneven development of capital and the shifting contours of class struggle, different times and places call for different tools. Furthermore, anti-state, anti-boss, and anti-landlord struggles should all be taken as legitimate entry points into the struggle for socialism. The task, however, is always the same: to draw the masses into the struggle for social transformation, to win them over to the socialist vision for a just society, and to organize the working class into a material force capable of enacting that vision. While the most effective means of building proletarian agency will vary greatly from place to place, it’s unlikely that elections will anywhere be the dominant domain of socialist organizing, and where elections are appropriate, they must synergize with efforts to build independent working-class power outside the state. In all instances, organizing (as opposed to simply mobilizing) the masses into institutions of class struggle, and establishing proletarian hegemony within the movement, are crucial.

 

Taking Stock: Rifles and Reforms

In part one of a three-part article, Hank Beecher aims to complicate the narratives set out by the electoral left that deny the possibility of revolution. 

This piece is the first in a series that seeks to orient us on the most effective path to socialism. The question of how socialists should relate to elections, the state, and policy reforms has been a contested question for as long as the left has existed in the United States. A common framing of the debate presents two alternatives: to strive for policy reforms that usher in socialism piecemeal, or to build power outside of the state in preparation for a revolutionary break with capitalism. The former approach is often called electoralism. The latter, consisting of building up independent working-class power outside the state, is often framed as dual power. Electoralists and dual power advocates agree that we should learn from the past, but also that our strategy should be based upon current, 21st-century conditions. However, to the extent that the polemicists make claims concerning our contemporary situation, most rely on assumptions that feel intuitive but lack empirical justification.

If we are serious about developing an effective blueprint for social transformation, we must take stock of this moment in history. How do electoralist assumptions about our material conditions hold up to reality? For the most part, they don’t. The electoralist picture of our current moment lacks depth, nuance, and at times is simply wrong. Before exploring the faults in this picture, however, we must clarify the strategies at stake and the terms of the debate.

The Strategies

Generally speaking, electoralism on the left embraces the existing state as a plausible vehicle for socialist transformation. However, even some reform-oriented leftists do advocate for revolution; they just find that engaging in electoral politics is the best way to build the class power and political legitimacy socialists need to get there. Furthermore, others maintain that even winning major reforms requires building power outside the state to force the government to act on behalf of the working class. Thus the matrix of the reform/revolution and dual power/electoralism looks something like this:

Many, perhaps most, leftists maintain that we must engage in elections and build power outside of the state, but debate which of these should command the greatest share of the left’s resources. However, public engagement and resource-allocation on the left is still overwhelmingly electoral, and this trend shows no sign of changing. Thus the purpose of such electoral arguments is unclear if not to dissuade other socialists from occupying their time building dual power.

Examples of leftist electoral politics abound. Perhaps most prominent is DSA’s national campaigns for Bernie Sanders as President and Medicare for All as policy. Other examples include Justice Democrats politicians such Rashida Tlaib and Ilhan Omar, who have shifted the national dialogue to the left on the important issues of Palestinian liberation and US foreign policy. Additionally, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez has been integral in mainstreaming the idea of the Green New Deal, a massive policy reform targeting climate change. These examples show how electoral engagement can help legitimize leftist ideas. 

What actually counts as dual power isn’t always clear. Ambiguities infect common usage. Lenin articulated three qualities that define dual power: (1) the source of the power is the direct initiative of the people from below, rather than some initiative by the state; (2) the disarming of military and police and direct arming of the people; and (3) the replacement of state officialdom with organs of direct popular power or radically accountable, recallable officials without any elite privileges. Few, if any, contemporary dual power endeavors encompass all three of these. Sophia Burns differentiates between two types of dual power. The first type is alternative institutions that seek to replace state governance or the capitalist mode of production in a given space (think community gardens replacing commodity food production on a small scale). The second are counter institutions that actively engage in class-confrontation with capitalists or the state (think a militant labor union fighting the boss). 

A further ambiguity is whether dual power must challenge both capitalism and the state; one institution might challenge state hegemony over a space, but not the mode of production in that space or vice versa. In his book Workers and Capital, Mario Tronti insists that the only concept of dual power that has any meaning is the power of workers within the labor process of commodity production itself, within the structured social relations of the factory. This understanding of class power is unapologetically reductionist. On the other hand, the Libertarian Socialist Caucus (LSC) in DSA explicitly rejects such workerist conceptions of class power, considering dual power to be a “strategy that builds liberated spaces and creates institutions grounded in direct democracy” to grow the new world “in the shell of the old.” This strategy is emergent, meaning dual power institutions embody the social relations with which we seek to replace capitalism, prefiguring a new society locally before and scaling up for an inevitable confrontation with the capitalist state.

For our purposes we will conceive of dual power as institutions outside the state in which the working class itself is empowered to act collectively, on its own behalf, to effect social transformation. Political independence from the capitalist class and its agents in government is non-negotiable. Rather than state representatives, legal advocates, or administrative bureaucracies, dual power congeals the workers into agents of their own liberation. “Workers” here is not to be understood in the narrow sense of those engaged in wage labor at the point of production, but as referring to all of those dispossessed by capital and left with nothing but their own labor power (and often not even that). This description suffices even if it doesn’t dispel all uncertainties associated with the term.

Examples of building dual power include efforts to organize tenant unions. Such unions fight displacement and improve living standards through mutual aid and collective action against abusive land owners. Organizations such as Los Angeles Tenants Union, Portland Tenants United, and the Philly Socialists organize tenants to build collective power against landlords and developers. These organizers have revitalized the rent strike, unleashing waves of mass struggle for control of the neighborhood. They have won major concessions from the ruling class and immediately improved the material wellbeing of many propertyless residents throughout the country. 

Other leftists oriented by the dual power approach have gotten jobs at key companies with the intent of agitating and organizing workers for power in the workplace. Called “salting”, this strategy harkens back to the radical days when communist organizers built the CIO, when the labor movement was at its height. These efforts are beginning to bear fruit, with committees of workers at Target stores and major e-commerce warehouses leading wildcat walkouts and marches on the boss to win immediate material gains and inspire similar efforts across the country.

Few, if any, polemicists advocate for abandoning class struggle outside the realm of electoral politics. Indeed, most assert the need for grassroots pressure from below, using mass mobilizations to hold elected officials accountable. It’s unclear whether this qualifies as dual power and, if so, where the electoral beef is with leftists who feel compelled to spend their efforts organizing tenant unions or salting unorganized workplaces. Perhaps we could make use of Jane McAlevey here, who distinguishes between mobilizing and organizing. 

Mobilizing refers to the model adopted by progressive social movements that depend on turning activists out in large numbers to protests. The goal is to pressure those in power to act on behalf of the working class. The more bodies at the rally, the better. Organizing, on the other hand, refers to the process of consolidating and solidifying relationships in the workplace and community, and strengthening bonds of solidarity. The goal is to empower the working class to challenge the power of capital through institutions of its own making. Mobilizing leaves current power structures intact but pressures the officialdom to represent working-class interests. Only organizing changes the underlying power dynamics animating society. Dual power, then, requires organizing institutions that challenge capitalist hegemony, not simply mobilizing an activist base.

By the characterization above, it’s hard to see what electoralists would oppose in the quest for dual power. One might be tempted to suppose that electoralists promote a mobilizing model of holding elected officials accountable through mass protests, activist culture, and the like. If this is not the case, it remains unclear what the actual disagreements are if not just a question of priority. What should the left spend its precious person-power and resources on? Electoral campaigns or building dual power? Unfortunately, the electoralist strategy rests on a faulty set of assumptions concerning the historic moment in which we operate.

SPD Poster: “Vote Red!”

The Electoralist Picture

While the dual power camp often invokes the Bolshevik Revolution as an example of the successful build-up and exercise of dual power, the electoral camp contends that our moment in history differs from that of the 1917 Russian Empire in important ways. First, in our current liberal democracy, elections are the way most people engage in politics and thus have the greatest legitimacy in the eyes of the masses. Insurrectionary politics only serve to isolate the left from the broader working class. We can call this the legitimacy argument since it proceeds from an assumption of electoral legitimacy. Secondly, unlike Imperial Russia, which was wracked by prolonged and disastrous engagement in World War 1, famine, and mass conscription, the United States is not embroiled in crisis on a scale that would shake the pillars of society and throw the whole system into doubt. We can call this the crisis argument because it proceeds from the presumed stability of our political-economic system, from the assumption that no significant crisis is on the horizon. Finally, electoralists argue that in modern democratic states, military might is too developed to be viably confronted. We can call this the firepower argument. But how does each of these claims hold up against the current state of affairs?

Legitimacy

As the default mode of civic engagement in much of the world, electoral politics seems obviously legitimate. However, on closer scrutiny this assumption falters. Not only does many of the working class people distrust electoral politics; they also view other, more militant forms of political agency as highly legitimate.

On a basic level, much of the working class is barred from participating in electoral politics, especially those with the most to gain from the overthrow of capitalism. For instance, those who would most benefit from criminal justice reform are barred from voting by felony conviction. Those terrorized by US foreign policy and border enforcement are excluded by citizenship requirements. The youth whose future is imperiled by the climate crisis are excluded on account of their age. But even amongst those who are eligible to participate in elections, most do not.

Of course, there are many reasons to abstain from voting that have nothing to do with whether one views it as legitimate. Apathy comes to mind. Many people may simply be content with the status quo. However, polls show that many American voters simply don’t trust our elections. For instance, 57% of non-white voters and half of women believe elections are unfair. These sentiments fluctuate and appear to reflect frustrations with the current party in power and displeasure with the latest election results. There’s a tendency for people to think elections are unfair when their party loses. This situation shows that for many people, loyalty to party outweighs loyalty to democracy. If perceptions of fairness can be taken as a measurement of legitimacy, then such findings undermine the assumption that the working class views electoral politics as legitimate. Indeed, most do not.

Elections aside, other forms of politics are viewed as highly legitimate by most Americans. Consider Red for Ed. Educators across the country have revived the labor movement by waging enormously successful, militant (and often illegal) wildcat strikes. It is hard to find a better example of mass, dual power politics in the United States. In repeated surveys, polls find that public support for the teacher strikes remains consistently high. Indeed, two-thirds of Americans support the strikes. Accordingly, more Americans support mass teacher strikes than consider our elections to be fair.

The legitimacy of militant collective action goes beyond support for strikes. Consider gun ownership. Roughly 40% of American adults own guns, about the same number as vote each presidential election cycle. Of those that own guns, 74% say the right to do so is essential to their freedom. Even among those who do not own guns, 35% agree on the importance of firearms to freedom. Thus the share of US adults with this view of gun ownership is higher than the share of US adults who participate in any given election. The right to bear arms is widely (though mistakenly) considered to have been meant as a hedge against tyrannical governments. Indeed, protection from tyranny is brought up time and again as a primary argument in favor of gun ownership, and not just on the right end of the political spectrum.

There is no doubt that the delineation of the right to bear arms in the United States is deeply infected with white supremacist motivations. However, the permanence of this feature of American identity, especially among rural communities, shows how for huge swaths of the working-class living in the United States, armed defense (and even insurrection) against tyranny is a profoundly legitimate right. Indeed, guns are just as widely viewed as a safeguard against tyranny as are elections. 

To some degree, the argument from legitimacy is a red herring. Legitimacy is a shifting landscape. Take the Civil Rights movement. Today, the Civil Rights Movement is overwhelmingly viewed as legitimate. Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, the bus boycotts, sit-ins, Selma, and the March on Washington all occupy a special place in the pantheon of 20th Century US politics. In its day, however, most Americans opposed it. If public perceptions of legitimacy were its guiding principle, the movement likely would have never gotten off the ground. 

Jane McAlevey traces the efficacy of the Civil Rights movement to deep organizing by unions and churches. Both institutions were essential in uniting the black working class of the South into a movement capable of changing the status quo. Importantly, as Joseph Luders shows, the success of the Civil Rights movement hinged on its power to disrupt the ability of Southern capitalists to turn a profit. When the costs of disruption outweighed the costs of conceding to the movement, the movement won. In other words, it was not the legitimacy of the civil rights movement that swept away de jure segregation. It was the ability of a deeply-organized Black working class to disrupt the ability of the South to function as an engine of capital accumulation. Only decades later is the movement widely viewed as legitimate. 

Legitimacy is an important consideration for leftists. However, it is part of the task of leftists to shift the terrain of public perception of what constitutes legitimate forms of political agency and what formations are legitimate mantles of political power. The task is two-fold: to delegitimize the bourgeois state and to legitimize new formations of working-class power. To prioritize electoral politics over building a base of working-class power outside the state achieves the opposite. Instead, we must expand notions of political agency by showing that the workplace, the neighborhood, and the home are all political spaces and our power lies in our solidarity.

Crisis

The crisis argument is perhaps the most curious aspect of the electoral camp’s case against dual power. Polemicists on both sides of the debate seem unclear about what actually constitutes a revolutionary crisis. It is not merely a crisis in the perceived legitimacy of the ruling class. György Lukács, succinctly invoking Lenin, explains a revolutionary crisis thus:

[T]he actuality of the revolution also means that the fermentation of society – the collapse of the old framework – far from being limited to the proletariat, involves all classes. Did not Lenin, after all, say that the true indication of a revolutionary situation is ‘when “the lower classes” do not want the old way, and when “the upper classes” cannot carry on in the old way’? ‘The revolution is impossible without a complete national crisis (affecting both exploited and exploiters).’ The deeper the crisis, the better the prospects for the revolution.

Thus, while crisis certainly involves a subjective component, we are not concerned with a mere crisis of legitimacy. Crisis arises from the inability of the system to reproduce its status quo, not just for the working class, but also for the ruling elites. Such a crisis is already underway. If we strive to be empirical and adapt our strategy to the actual, material conditions of our particular moment in history, then we simply cannot dismiss the magnitude of climate change and global ecological crisis we face. It may be impossible to predict how society will respond to the looming crisis, but one fact is certain: a crisis unprecedented in magnitude and scope is absolutely on the horizon and advanced capitalist states have thus far, almost without exception, proven wholly unable to do anything to prevent or mitigate it. It poses a dire and unavoidable threat to the very way the economy functions and to countless processes of capital accumulation. To deny this claim one must be as hostile toward a scientific worldview as an obtuse politician throwing snowballs on the floors of Congress.

The consensus among relevant experts is approaching 100%. The conditions that have supported human civilization since its dawn have frayed and a future of business-as-usual is emphatically impossible. The cause is fundamental to the way our economic system functions. None of these are fringe leftist views.  Among scientists and experts of all stripes, those that reject this prognosis now form a vanishingly small superminority. 

No leftist outright denies the climate crisis. Most acknowledge it as proof of capitalism’s inherent unsustainability and identify it as one of the major problems for socialists to solve once taking power. Indeed, this is why DSA resolved to throw its weight behind the Green New Deal. This broad recognition of climate crisis as an issue, however, strangely does not lead to a recognition of crisis as a material condition that should dictate strategy. Crisis is the defining feature of our future. To deny this abandons our commitment to materialism. Failing to place this fact at the very center of our politics not only brings an incomplete picture of our conditions into political strategy; it fully redacts the present moment from our analysis. 

Climate change acts as a catalyst for latent social contradictions. It exacerbated class conflict and oppression in countless ways. Consider the illegal southern US border, which was drawn by conquest and has long fractured indigenous communities in the region. The authoritarian nature of white nationalism exists regardless of climate change, but the magnitude of its violence has wildly escalated as climate change uproots the rural working class in Central America, only to have them ripped from their loved ones and locked indefinitely in concentration camps at the border. Consider Puerto Rico, where climate-intensified hurricanes have wreaked havoc on the island, killing nearly 3,000 residents in 2017 and accelerating colonial oppression and plunder. Consider the tribal nations in the Pacific Northwest, who are being dispossessed of their remaining national territories as rising seas swallow their land. Climate crisis is class conflict on steroids and for much of the working class, eco-apartheid already exists.

Climate change blasts open new fronts for class struggle. The new normal for hurricane season stands out. The inundation of major built environments such as New Orleans, the Rockaways, and Houston were unprecedented for much of US history and sparked desperate battles for the right to the city. On the one hand, the storms unleashed new waves of capital accumulation in the form of shock-induced gentrification. Capitalists sought to leverage the destruction to privatize entire cities. On the other hand, communities organized for mutual aid and to fight off developers who circled the carnage like vultures. There are opposing paths of exit from every crisis.

Climate crisis is already a crucial driver of class struggle. To deny this excludes vast portions of the working class from our analysis. In such a chauvinist view, the working class only encompasses citizens enjoying enough national or racial privilege to be sheltered from the immense suffering already unleashed by an unraveling climate. Not only is crisis emphatically immanent, but vast portions of the most oppressed sections of the working class are already embroiled in it.

Firepower

The firepower argument is the most compelling line of reasoning from electoralists. In this view, modern capitalist states differ from those that have been toppled by dual power insurgency in at least three important ways. First, technologically-advanced modern militaries, particularly that of the US, are far more powerful than any other military in history. The logic of building dual power points ultimately to a confrontation with such forces, which no rabble of leftists could ever hope to win. 

Second, in successful past rebellions, revolutionaries have relied immensely on factions of the military turning against the state and joining the revolution. Indeed, these mutinous factions were a central aspect of dual power in the Russian Revolution. Defection was widespread because most enlisted soldiers were not in the military voluntarily; they were conscripted to fight for empire in World War I. Vast portions of the military were loyal to the Russian masses and working class from which they were conscripted. Indeed, many soldiers were Bolsheviks before they were drafted into the imperial war. These soldiers were crucial for organizing mutinies to turn the military against the state. Electoralists argue that the current situation could not be more different. The US eliminated conscription decades ago. Defection within the ranks is therefore highly unlikely; it seems safe to assume that most of today’s forces are loyal to the government they voluntarily serve. 

Third, there is a robust right-wing militia movement in the US that effectively serves as an extension of the most reactionary aspects of state power. Not only do leftists have to contend with the formal military; they must contend with these paramilitary forces.

Though a compelling advisory against insurrection in the immediate future, this argument is not an airtight case against prioritizing dual power. The reasons are three-fold. 

Diversity of Dual Power

First, there are important ways of building dual power that don’t entail armed insurrection. Power takes multiple forms, and firepower is only one of them. Control over production and social reproduction is another. For instance, building the social infrastructure to wage a mass strike is every bit as much a project of dual power as assembling an insurrectionary force. Additionally, while modern technology has exponentially enhanced the might of the military, it has magnified the power of certain sectors of the working class as well. Military power is produced and reproduced by labor. Skilled workers employed by companies such as Amazon Web Services (AWS) yield more structural power than perhaps any other collection of people ever. 

Consider the following: a mere two thousand AWS workers develop and maintain the tech infrastructure responsible for hosting over half of the internet. That content encompasses the Pentagon’s cyberinfrastructure. It also includes the online presence for countless businesses, some of the biggest oil and gas companies, entire nations, court systems, and stock markets. The share of the web-hosted by AWS is so great that there isn’t enough space on backup servers to absorb it all. Furthermore, Amazon tech workers develop and maintain an exploding share of global logistics networks, a sector crucial to transnational chains of capital valorization. There has never been a more concentrated bottleneck in global capital accumulation, nor one in which the skilled workers are more difficult to replace. Just as tech has empowered imperial militaries to unprecedented heights, so too has it endowed labor with might unknown to the revolutionaries of the past.

It’s true that the capitalist state may marshal its military to crush the prospect of a successful seizure of power through a mass strike. Indeed, there is precedent for the White House declaring certain industries essential to national security and sending in the troops to prevent work stoppages. However, such a reaction is also in the cards for an electoral rupture with capitalism. If military confrontation is the logical endpoint of dual power, then it’s also the logical endpoint of an electoral road to socialism. The electoralist may argue that at least in the electoral process, socialists establish legitimacy and thus the masses will rush to the defense of socialism as a defense of democracy. However, we have already established that, for instance, strikes are viewed as at least as legitimate as elections. Why, then, would the masses rush to the defense of a party that takes power through electoral means but not one that seizes power by successfully executing a mass strike? Thus the prospect of military reaction provides no reason to prioritize elections over dual power. Indeed, it provides reason to prioritize the latter.

Military Cohesiveness and Troop Loyalties

The electoral account over-assumes the degree to which military members are a monolithic, volunteer force dedicated to the cause of empire. Studies suggest that the primary motivation for most members to enlist is economic. Having the government pay for college tops the list. This phenomenon is often called an economic draft or economic conscription since many members join because they lack better prospects for financial security or social advancement. If most members also like being in the military or are committed to their work, the electoral argument would be stronger. However, this is not the case.

Once a recruit enlists, there is no turning back. A typical term of service for enlisted members is six years. Once enlisted, a servicemember cannot quit before that time is up. Members have the opportunity to renew at the end of their initial term, but few do. In 2011 the average length of service by enlisted members of the military was 6.7 years, only a few months longer than the typical minimum troops are typically required to serve. Given the attractive benefits and ability to retire young, why wouldn’t more troops choose to make a career in the military? As it turns out, most want out. In 2015, half of US troops reported feeling unhappy and pessimistic about their job. Nearly half also reported not feeling committed to or satisfied with their work. In light of these sentiments, our “volunteer force” turns out to be largely made up of folks who are in for the future economic benefits and would likely quit if they could. Furthermore, these high turnover rates mean hundreds of thousands of troops re-enter civil society every year, oftentimes struggling to adjust and feeling abandoned by the government they served. These dynamics suggest that we should view the high turnover as a routine, de facto mass defection of troops. 

Turning to the dynamics of loyalty within the US military, consider the following trends: 1) the membership of the US military is becoming increasingly politically polarized, to such a degree that many commentators are beginning to wonder if this polarization is a problem. 2) The military itself is becoming increasingly politicized with President Trump and the Republicans trying to paint themselves as the party of the armed forces. Consider what the latter point means for the hundreds of thousands of service members who do not align with the party of Trump. If the trend of polarization and politicization continues, then we can expect to see cracks widen in the cohesiveness of the membership’s alignments. The political identifications of specific groups within the military tend to reflect the politics of the broader communities from which they hail. Like in conscript armies, members of the US armed forces have affinities with their social groupings outside the military. Accordingly, in place of the electoralist image of the military as a monolithic volunteer force with unfaltering allegiance to empire, the reality is a mass of politically diverse and increasingly polarized service members, half of whom don’t actually want to be in the military and expressly lack commitment to the job. 

Yugoslav partisans in WWII

Civilian Firepower

In terms of firepower, the US differs from many other societies, past and present, in another important way. While it has a military of unprecedented strength, its masses are also uniquely well-armed. Consider the following trends. Even among minorities and oppressed groups, gun ownership is common. One in three Black American households have guns, as do one in five Hispanic households. A quarter of non-white men are armed. Twenty-two percent of women personally own a firearm. While it’s true that Republicans are the most likely to own guns, Independents are nearly as likely and make up a much larger share of the population. Millions of Democrats and self-identified liberals also bear arms. 

No doubt, there are disparities in the contours of gun ownership that we can’t ignore. The balance of firepower between white men and the rest of society certainly skews in favor of the former, and guns are relatively concentrated in the hands of political conservatives. Equally troubling, those making over $100,000 a year are almost twice as likely to own a gun as those making under $25,000 a year. However, rates of gun ownership are roughly similar at all income levels over $25,000. This fact indicates that, while the poorest Americans are the least likely to own guns, above a relatively low-income threshold, class is not a strong determinant in gun ownership. Thus, while many gun owners have a vested interest in the preservation of both capitalism and white supremacy, many do not. 

Much of the dynamics of gun ownership may reflect that rural America is both a conservative stronghold and where most gun owners reside. Changing the first of these factors, the political orientation of the rural working class, is a crucial task of the left regardless of considerations about firepower. The American countryside used to be a hotbed of left-wing militancy. Any ambitious socialist movement has the responsibility to make it so again. The alternative is to abandon the masses outside of coastal metropolises. Leftists must win over the working class wherever they reside, and the working class in much of the US is already well-armed. Thus the process of winning the masses to socialism outside of urban activist strongholds would itself help neutralize the imbalance in firepower. 

One of the more troubling aspects of civilian gun ownership is the far-right militia movement. In recent years, civilian militias have emerged victorious from standoffs against the government. While much of the movement does oppose state power, it is composed of some of the most reactionary elements acting in defense of capital, unrestricted private property rights, and racial privilege. However, far from showing some immutable quality of working class gun owners, the militia movement shows how armed civilians are capable of organizing to oppose the state. 

A striking example took place in 2014, when civilian militias amassed to face down federal, state, and county agents in southern Nevada. Rancher Cliven Bundy owed (and still owes) millions of dollars to the federal government. For decades, he has been grazing his cattle on federal lands while withholding grazing fees. After legal prosecution failed to compel him to pay, the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) sent officials to round up and remove his cattle from federal range. In response, Bundy called on the militias. At least five paramilitaries assembled to back his personal claim to federal land in a face-off with government agents. In multiple press releases, Bundy expressed his refusal to accept the legitimacy of the federal government. In the end, the government forces backed down and cancelled its round-up, leaving Bundy to forcefully enclose public lands for his own commercial use. Five years later, he continues to use federal range as his own commercial asset and has not paid a dime. The militia movement successfully challenged the federal government and established sovereignty over a small chunk of the Southwest desert. 

The dynamics at play in the standoff share many similarities to a situation of dual power. Two opposing forces claimed legitimacy and sovereignty over a piece of territory. The militia movement can thus be seen as effectively building a “state within a state,” albeit a capitalist, proto-fascist state. No doubt, the federal government would not treat a socialist threat so kindly. 

The foregoing account shows that a vast build-up of civilian firepower already exists. Its most organized and disciplined formations have challenged the state and come out victorious on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, much of this movement should be considered a paramilitary extension of bourgeois power that supplements, not counters, the formal military. Most right-wing militias are characterized by jingoism and commitment to empire to a degree that many enlisted service members are not. However, even this account deserves nuance.

The militia movement itself has experienced defections and splits over the inclusion of racist ideologies in the movement. Much of it explicitly opposes racism and antisemitism. The overtly racist factions of the movement typically have to emphasize their anti-government sentiments and hide their racist elements in order to attract followers. Indeed, in today’s movement, the underlying ideological unity is anti-government more so than white nationalist. Much of the movement views itself as opposing state oppression. In fact, in the standoff in Nevada, it was a video of federal agents body slamming a woman in the Bundy family that brought so many members to the fight.

More importantly, the right-wing militia movement is only a very small fraction of the armed and trained citizenry. It has been able to grow in part by positioning itself as a conduit for disaffected veterans. There’s no reason the left can’t begin to do the same and grow an alternative pole of attraction for the hundred of thousands of service members leaving the military each year. This strategy, however, is incomplete. In addition to disarming reactionary and bourgeois elements in society, any strategy regarding firearms within the US must also prioritize the self-defense of the oppressed and internally colonized. In small ways, this is already occurring. We will return to this point in a later piece.

These considerations do not open up the possibility of armed insurrection against the government any time in the immediate future, but they do complicate the electoralist picture. First, some of the most promising and important types of dual power will come from organizing workers at the points of production and reproduction, not from simply picking up guns. Just as the military has been empowered by modern innovation, so have the workers who produce and maintain that technology. Secondly, the military is likely not a homogenous political force that would slaughter fellow Americans engaged in something like a mass strike. Indeed, we see increasing political polarization within the ranks and mass de facto defection every year. Third, much of the US working class is already armed and socialists are already charged with the task of winning them over. 

Conclusion

The electoralist picture obscures a great deal of nuance in the social, political, and historic landscape of the United States. It does so in ways that fundamentally undermine its case against dual power. First, it overstates the legitimacy in the bourgeois state and the parliamentary process in relation to other forms of political agency. It also mistakes the role legitimacy has historically played as an engine of social transformation.

Secondly, and most curiously, it fails to acknowledge the climate crisis as a crucial feature of the current moment. While leftists in general conceive of climate change as an issue, deep crisis defines the very real material conditions that should determine strategy. A left exit from this crisis thus must be a crucial framework for how we move forward. 

Finally, the dynamics of firepower indeed place great constraints on how we can effectively build dual power. They do not, however, foreclose the possibility. In the next part of this series, I will explore several examples of contemporary attempts to address crisis electorally, why these attempts have failed or succeeded, and how they should inform our approach to socialist transformation moving forward. 

Historiography Wars: The French Revolution

Historiographical debates around the French Revolution are ultimately political debates, not just debates about the facts. Donald Parkinson argues for revitalizing the tradition of the social historians against the new revisionist orthodoxy. 

Burning The Royal Carriages At the Chateau D’Eu by Nathaniel Currier

Debates about historical events are proxies for struggles over how to run the world, how to change the world, and whether the world should even be changed. This holds true most of all for revolutions, the French Revolution being a prime exemplar. When we look at the history of the French Revolution, we see not merely a disputation over facts but a debate about their interpretation, one which is thoroughly political, not merely academic. This is a dispute that is ideologically loaded and related to greater trends in political (and therefore class) conflict. The debates about the meaning of the French Revolution do not stand outside of history; they are expressions of greater conflicts –  republicanism against monarchism, socialism and communism against capitalism, and the true meaning of democracy. We can never assume that when scholars discuss the French Revolution they are engaged in an ideologically neutral exercise of fact-finding; that work is long done. When one portrays the French Revolution as an outpouring of chaotic mob violence or as the product of greater historical process of class struggle they are elaborating a political agenda, consciously or unconsciously. History is a partisan struggle, the construction of narratives to frame significant events is a terrain of this struggle. 

Beginning the Historiographical Battle  

The historiography of the French Revolution goes back to before the closing of the revolutionary period. Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France was a response to revolutionary events that was conservative and skeptical, mostly condemning the revolution as a pointless excess. On the other side of this political divide, between monarchism and revolutionary republicanism, was Thomas Paine’s The Rights Of Man, which celebrated the democratic and republican aims of the revolution. Burke would inspire the likes of Catholic reactionary Joseph De Maistre, who saw the revolution as the bloody and chaotic result of Enlightenment ideology undermining the divine right of Kings. Following De Maistre was another Catholic reactionary, Augustin Barruel, a Jesuit priest who promoted the idea of the revolution as a plot of the Freemasons and Illuminati and invented the modern conspiracy theory.  Throughout the nineteenth century historians such as Michelet1, Guizot2 and Thiers3 would follow while building upon the tradition of Paine that saw the revolution as a triumph of the bourgeoisie (or third estate) and their values of democratic-republicanism. François Aulard, the first professional historian of the revolution, would solidify this interpretation with his multi-volume works written in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. The notion that the class which benefited most from the revolution was a progressive bourgeoisie that represented Enlightenment values was at the core of these republican historians and served as a predecessor to the Marxist argument that the revolution was a bourgeois revolution. It is this claim that would be the centerpiece of debates in the future historiography. 

We can see from the aforementioned examples that a political battle was already being fought within the historiography of the French Revolution. On one end were those who sought to defend the revolution as open new vistas of human potential, in turn espousing Enlightenment values of progress and humanism where reason would lead the way to expand freedom and liberty. On the other end were a decadent ruling aristocracy and the Catholic clergy, who saw the revolution as at best an unfortunate excess inspired by the flaws of Enlightenment ideology, at worst a Satanic punishment for the sins of man. These conflicts in the writing of history were related to a greater conflict in the nineteenth century between the forces of republicanism and the forces of monarchism. As we shall see this historiographical divide was a predecessor to the politicized historiographical debates of the twentieth century between the Marxist historians and the revisionist historians, defending the necessity of socialist revolution and the legitimacy of the capitalist order respectively.4 

Execution of Louis XVI by Carnavalet

Marxism Enters the Stage 

The development of the first mass socialist parties and the rise of a Marxist intellectual culture associated with these parties created a whole new school of thought on the French Revolution. The thought of Karl Marx was central to these parties, and would, therefore, be central to a new generation of writers and historians who apply his theories to understanding the French Revolution. Marx’s own views on the French Revolution were a synthesis of the critiques of the limits of the revolution made by early Communists such as Babeuf, Buonarroti and Moses Hess as well as the aforementioned Republican historians such as Guizot and Thiers.5 However, the most important contribution from Marx towards the historiography in question was his theory of historical materialism, which aimed to understand social development as a dynamic process fueled by class struggle. This theoretical framework would have more influence on future historians of the revolution than any of his scattered comments on the event itself. Most importantly, Marx’s thought was energized by a revolutionary politics that aimed to continue the work of the French Revolution, while also transcending it. His understanding of the revolution as a bourgeois revolution was a greater statement about revolutions and class struggle as the locomotive of history, not a mere scholarly claim. To quote Michael Löwy: 

Naturally, this analysis of the—ultimately—bourgeois character of the French Revolution was not an exercise in academic historiography: it had a precise political objective. In demystifying 1789, its aim was to show the necessity of a new revolution, the social revolution—the one Marx spoke of in 1844 as ‘human emancipation’ (by contrast with merely political emancipation) and in 1846 as the Communist revolution.6

With the intellectual breakthrough of Karl Marx, a new development in the historiography of the French Revolution would begin. A new school was in formation, one which would be known as the social interpretation. A groundbreaking work in the formation of this school was A Socialist History of the French Revolution by Jean Jaurès, one of the most prominent leaders of French socialism. Jaurès’ work was not only a work of scholarship but also a politically motivated work, one that aimed to ”recount the events that occurred between 1789 and the end of the nineteenth century from the socialist point of view for the benefit of the common people, workers, and peasants.”7 Jaurès oriented his own politics around the heritage of the French Revolution, aiming to combine its republican nationalism with the socialist ideal. He framed his politics around the French Revolution and told socialists that they were the true inheritors of its legacy. 

Jaurès’ approach to the revolution was that it was an “immense and admirably fertile event” that “signified the political advent of the bourgeois class” and “gradually set the scene for a new social crisis, a new and more profound revolution by which the proletariat would seize power in order to transform property and morality.”8 Robespierre and the Jacobins were heroes, Jaurès siding with them even when they clashed with the plebian classes because of the historical necessity of the bourgeoisie’s triumph. In some senses Jaurès oversimplified events: the revolution unfolded smoothly as if the sole cause was the economic development of the bourgeoisie. Regardless of weaknesses, his work was groundbreaking, providing the first comprehensive history of the revolution within a Marxist framework.

Jaurès used the legacy of the French Revolution to defend the politics of the Second International. Albert Mathiez, a French author writing in the years following the Russian Revolution, would turn to this legacy to defend Bolshevism and claim Lenin’s party as the inheritors of the Jacobin project. Lenin himself appealed to the legacy of the Jacobins, saying 

Bourgeois historians see Jacobinism as a fall (“to stoop”). Proletarian historians see Jacobinism as one of the highest peaks in the emancipation struggle of an oppressed class. The Jacobins gave France the best models of a democratic revolution and of resistance to a coalition of monarchs against a republic…“Jacobinism” in Europe or on the boundary line between Europe and Asia in the twentieth century would be the rule of the revolutionary class, of the proletariat, which, supported by the peasant poor and taking advantage of the existing material basis for advancing to socialism, could not only provide all the great, ineradicable, unforgettable things provided by the Jacobins in the eighteenth century, but bring about a lasting world-wide victory for the working people.9

While Jaurès saw the revolution as unfolding smoothly according to economic causes, Mathiez emphasized violence and sudden ruptural changes. One can see these differences as an expression of political divergences, Jaurès having a more reformist temperament and Mathiez being more of a militant insurrectionary inspired by the Bolsheviks. A key part of Mathiez’s writings on the revolution was the defence of the Jacobins’ use of terror, which was a rational response to issues forced upon the Jacobins by the logic of revolution. The Committee of Public Safety, said Mathiez, was “urged on by irresistible necessities…In fact these men had the dictatorship forced upon them. They neither desired or foresaw it.”10 Mathiez would directly compare the dictatorships of the Bolsheviks with the Jacobins, stating 

The origin and the strength of both dictatorships was drawn from the population of the cities, and in particular the capital. The Montagnard’ fortress was in Paris in the popular sections composed of artisans; the Bolshevists recruit their Red Guard from among the workers in the factories of Petrograd.11

In defending the Reign of Terror as something imposed by the necessity of revolution, as well as defending the French Revolution as a bourgeois revolution in line with Marx, Mathiez was, in turn, defending the tactics used by Bolshevism. He was using history as a partisan in an ideological struggle, defending the necessity of revolution for social progress with all the violent difficulties that came with it. Along with Jaurès, Mathiez was helping to form a historical school that was not only based on defending the cause of the proletariat but also was oriented around a Marxist theory of history which saw the revolution as part of a grander historical scheme centered around class struggle and changing modes of production. In doing so they set the stage for the social interpretation of the French Revolution, the interpretation that would come to be the historical orthodoxy despite its radical origins. 

The storming of the Bastille

The Social Interpretation 

The actual break between the social interpretation and its earlier Marxist predecessors is ultimately not an immense one. Jaurès and Mathiez created the basic groundwork and later historians would build upon it to form the official canon that became hegemonic in the French academy. The primary difference was one of depth and academic acclaim. It was Georges Lefebvre who would take the earlier Marxist historians and develop their work into what is known as the social interpretation. Lefebvre held a position of influence in the academy, having been named the Chair of the History of the French Revolution at the Sorbonne. Using this position of influence he was able to cement into historical orthodoxy an essential Marxist interpretation which focused on history as a process of class struggle. Yet from reading Lefebvre one gets a sense that he aimed to distance his approach from Marxism to gain acceptability in the halls of academia. He avoided its precise jargon (words such as “mode of production” or “proletariat”) while maintaining its core principles in his analysis. One of these core principles was the concept of bourgeois revolution, centered in the interpretation of Marx himself and the earlier Marxist historians. However, Lefebvre would avoid making his allegiance to Marxism stand at the forefront of his work. While Lefebre did not represent much of a break from the earlier Marxist historians, his work was able to appeal to historians who would have otherwise dismissed Marxism. This was not because of the lack of Marxist jargon in his work. Lefebvre’s innovations mostly came in his ability to pioneer what is today known as “history from below”, an approach to history that focused on the daily life and popular attitudes of everyday people. 

Lefebvre’s first work was the 1924 monograph The Northern Peasants During the French Revolution, possibly the first account of the French Revolution that focused specifically on the peasantry. In 1932 came his work The Great Fear of 1789, focusing on the violent hysteria that swept the French countryside at the beginning of the revolution. While earlier Marxist approaches focused on the importance of class, Lefebvre put a magnifying glass to the actual activity of these classes on the ground. He also aimed to elaborate a more comprehensive account of all the different classes in the revolution, not simply the bourgeoisie. His 1939 book The Coming of the French Revolution presented the revolution as more than a mere political revolution, but as a social revolution having four separate components: the aristocratic revolution, the bourgeois revolution, the popular revolution, and the peasant revolution. Lefebvre’s account still centered a rising bourgeoisie and an aristocracy in decline, the bourgeoisie having gradually developed economic power in the interstices of a society based primarily on landed property owned by the nobility. Yet the key to the power of this rising bourgeoisie was the insurgent plebian classes. Lefebvre’s focus on the peasantry showed the crucial role they played in challenging absolutism, documenting the war they waged on a system of seigneurial dues that formed the backbone of the old feudal order. In Lefebvre’s social interpretation, class struggle is a historical category of analysis that made the separate events of the revolution flow into a coherent narrative which could explain its deeper objective causes as well as the historical significance of its outcome, which was not a mere political regime change but social and economic in scope.12 In the last instance, the cause of the revolution was found in greater historical forces that extended beyond the control of its participants. Despite this source of causality in deeper material processes, Lefebvre’s writing gave life to the actions of the everyday people who made revolution. His narrative was not a mechanical and lifeless movement of expanding productive forces necessitating society to meet the needs of development. Instead, Lefebvre illustrated the movement of impersonal historical forces with the habits and consciousness of peasants, artisans, and workers as they struggled against a system of privilege and exploitation. 

Albert Soboul’s work would continue the social interpretation pioneered by Lefebvre, expanding Lefebvre’s studies of popular movements both in the city and countryside. His contributions are well represented by the 1965 book A Short History of the French Revolution. Unlike Lefebvre, Soboul used explicitly Marxist terminology (mode of production, relations of production, proletariat, ect), working more directly in continuity with Jaurès and Mathiez.13 At the core of his analysis was the complexity of interactions between classes and political groups. Radical democratic aspects of the revolution meant that the interventions of the exploited classes could shape events in ways that could be to the benefit or detriment of the bourgeoisie and even the development of capitalism.  According to Soboul, it was the masses of peasants, petty producers, artisans, and other urban workers rather than the bourgeoisie that would be the real social force that drove the revolution forward and “dealt the gravest blows to the old order of society”.14 While this interpretation was not original after the work of Lefebvre, Soboul wrote about the revolution within an explicitly Marxist framework. Where Lefebvre’s studies focused on the peasantry, Soboul would give a similar treatment to the Sans-Culottes, who would stand at the center of his 1968 work titled after these militant urban workers.15 Yet Soboul also reaffirmed that the revolution was a product of objective historical forces that were beyond the control of individual actors. 

Central to the framework of the social interpretation is the theory of bourgeois revolution. This theory holds that the transition from the feudal to the capitalist mode of production was accompanied by revolutions in which the bourgeoisie would seize political power after gradually developing an economic base within the confines of feudal society. In Lefebvre’s account, the revolution was one of  “established harmony between fact and law,” with the bourgeoisie overthrowing the absolutist state obstructing their full ascendence as a class and hence the flowering of capitalist development.16 For Soboul, the roots of the revolution go back as far as the tenth century with the revival of commerce and handicraft production, forms of wealth that were personal and movable. The bourgeoisie gradually developed greater amounts of power within the confines of the feudal order, the development of colonial empires and royal finance contributing to their rise. By the eighteenth century, the bourgeoisie is presented as having a leading role not only in commerce, industry, and finance but the administration of the state as well. Yet to fully ascend to power, the remnants of feudalism and the absolutist state that stood in the way of this rising bourgeoisie would have to be overthrown through revolution.17 Soboul’s interpretation is almost identical to how Marx describes the bourgeois revolution in the Communist Manifesto:

We see then: the means of production and of exchange, on whose foundation the bourgeoisie built itself up, were generated in feudal society. At a certain stage in the development of these means of production and of exchange, the conditions under which feudal society produced and exchanged, the feudal organization of agriculture and manufacturing industry, in one word, the feudal relations of property became no longer compatible with the already developed productive forces; they became so many fetters. They had to be burst asunder; they were burst asunder.18

Within the social interpretation of the revolution, there is a sense that the revolution was in a way inevitable, a product of the unfolding of greater impersonal historical forces. This is not to say that Lefebvre and Soboul gave no sense of agency to historical actors. Their work greatly emphasized the role that the popular classes played in moving the revolution forward, often against the will of an anxious bourgeoisie. Yet at the core of this interpretation is the notion that historical events have causality in broader socio-economic factors outside the control of individuals. It is an interpretation that fits within a greater theoretical schema where history is a sequence of modes of production, with transitions between them marked by decisive class struggles, struggles in turn conditioned by the development of productive forces. History has a greater logic to it and is not merely a random sequence of events with no continuity. Nor is it without any contingency. Yet contingency is always limited: human actors make decisions within the limits of events and economic forces beyond their own control. And even these decisions are not made without conditioning from that which came before. Hungarian Marxist György Lukács described this dialectic of structure and contingency in Marxism, where history 

is no longer an enigmatic flux to which men and things are subjected. It is no longer a thing to be explained by the intervention of transcendental powers or made meaningful by reference to transcendental values. History is, on the one hand, the product (albeit the unconscious one) of man’s own activity, on the other hand it is the succession of those processes in which the forms taken by this activity and the relation of man to himself (to nature, to other men) are overthrown.19

The promise provided by such a theory of history is that by understanding the broader socio-economic conditions that drive history we can then collectively act to change history to better the condition of humanity, in the same way a scientist develops their understanding of natural laws through experimentation and uses this understanding to invent new techniques and technologies to transform nature to meet our needs.  The understanding of history utilized by the social historians was not simply an analytical tool but promised to humanity the potential for a better future. Events such as the French Revolution signaled the possibility of building a new society informed by a scientific yet partisan understanding of history.  

Zenith of French Glory by James Gillray

First Wave of Revisionism

French historians like Lefebvre and Soboul were able to establish the hegemony of the Marxist social interpretation in the academy in a world where the Cold War raged between the Eastern Bloc and NATO. Alongside this military struggle between global camps was an ideological struggle in the academy. Hence this period was one of intellectual works like Karl Popper’s The Open Society and Its Enemies, which linked the totalizing theory of history espoused by Marxists with totalitarian politics. To disprove Marxism was to weaken the intellectual credentials of Communism and weaken its hold amongst intellectuals. To dethrone the social interpretation from hegemony in the academy was, therefore, part of this ideological struggle. It is in this context that we must understand the attacks on the social interpretation of the French Revolution.   

The social interpretation would first be challenged by Anglo-American historian Alfred Cobban. Cobban’s book The Social Interpretation of the French Revolution (1964) is primarily an attack on the Marxist narrative of the revolution rather than a historical work that breaks any ground in research. His book was a rupture in the historiography of the revolution, breaking ground for what would be known as revisionism. Revisionism would eventually take the social interpretation’s place as the prevailing orthodoxy, but first, it would have to demolish the entire foundation that the social interpretation sat upon. This meant attacking the theoretical foundations of the social interpretation: Marxism. For Cobban, Marxism is essentially a religious ideology, because it aims to provide purpose and meaning to human existence. Yet he goes further than rejecting only Marxism, arguing that any kind of sociological theory cannot be mixed with history without providing results that are biased in favor of the given theory. In Cobban’s view, Marxism essentially blinded historians like Lefebvre and Soboul from the facts in front of their own eyes by forcing them into the confines of a particular sociological theory.20 This is similar to Karl Popper’s critique of Marxism as a totalizing worldview that forces facts into a grand historical schema instead of emphasizing skepticism and empiricism. Rather than understanding the French Revolution as an expression of broader historical patterns, Cobban embraced narrow Anglo-Saxon empiricism where the facts essentially spoke for themselves. By looking at the surface appearance of events without connecting them to the broader movement of history Cobban hoped to deal a major blow to the dominant Marxist-influenced interpretations. 

The theory of bourgeois revolution was the main target of Cobban’s attack. As noted earlier, the theory of bourgeois revolution placed the French Revolution in the context of the transition from feudalism to capitalism, with the revolution as a breaking point in that transition in which the bourgeoise established political dominance and destroyed the absolutist state that was a barrier to capitalist development. Cobban would take the opposite approach, claiming that the revolution was in fact against capitalism and ultimately blocked its development. In this interpretation, the mass revolts of the revolution were primarily against the coming of a newer capitalist order, rather than a revolt against the remnants of feudalism. There was instead a step backward rather than a step forward, with France still a primarily agrarian society after the revolution.21 One of the ways he makes this argument is by ironically drawing from Lefebvre’s own work, particularly his Études Orléanaises study. Using this study, Cobban would argue that the majority of grievances recorded were complaints aimed at the growing commercialization of the countryside rather than the old feudal order. Cited examples showed hatred of large farmers, peasants incapable of attaining ownership of plots having to sell themselves into wage-servitude, and resentment towards financiers.22 By drawing from Lefebvre’s work, Cobban aims to make a specific point: that it was not the facts themselves that Lefebvre got wrong, but that his adherence to the Marxist theory of bourgeois revolution caused him to force the facts into a theoretical schema that contradicted them. Another important argument found in The Social Interpretation of the French Revolution was that the revolution was not itself led by a bourgeoisie which engaged in either commercial wealth or employing waged labor but was rather composed mostly of professionals. Cobban used this to argue that class categories were simply not applicable to the revolution, as all the different groups were purely political and not connected to definable class interests.23

Cobban would also argue that whatever type of society existed in ancien régime France could not be described as feudalism. While not putting forward an alternative of how to categorize the social formation in France at the time, Cobban makes the point that seigniorial rights were alienable and were able to come into the possession of non-noble hands. Hence ownership of land and the ability to extract seigniorial dues was dissociated from the status of nobility.24 Colin Lucas’ article Nobles, Bourgeois and the Origins of the French Revolution (1973) would add to the arguments accumulating against the social interpretation, claiming that there was, in fact, no real difference between bourgeoisie and nobility in late eighteenth-century France. Instead, the two essentially formed a homogenous ruling class. In Lucas’ view, the bourgeoisie could not even be differentiated from the nobility by their investment patterns, which were primarily motivated by social status rather than the profit motive.25 For the historian William Doyle, who contributed to the revisionist interpretations with his 1980 book Origins of the French Revolution, the revisionist school had changed the parameters of the discussion, but it was still unclear how and why the revolution came about.26 What united the Anglo-American revisionist historians was primarily a negation of the existing orthodox historiography, rather than any positive alternative theory that sought to explain the objective causes of revolutionary events. Through a methodology of positivism that was in line with other Cold War attacks on Marxism, the beginnings of a revisionist school were formed.  

Furet and the New Revisionist Orthodoxy

François Furet would bring revisionism to Paris itself to do battle with the adherents of the still dominant social interpretation. The work of Furet coincided with a greater trend of anti-communism in the French intelligentsia, coinciding with the New Philosophers like Bernard-Henri Lévy. Like many of the New Philosophers, Furet was an ex-Communist who made no secret of his distaste for Marxism. His attacks on the social interpretation of the French Revolution were politically charged and portrayed the revolution as the beginning of ‘totalitarian’ regimes like Stalinist Russia and Nazi Germany, a sort of historical complement to philosophical arguments made by the New Philosophers. This rise of intellectual anti-communism coincided with the decline of the USSR as well as revelations of the horrors of Stalinism from Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago. The general mood of this intellectual conservatism can be summarized by Bernard-Henri Lévy’s statement that “We never will again remake the world, but at least we can stay on guard to see that it is not unmade.”27  Before Francis Fukuyama proclaimed the end of history, Parisian historians and philosophers were anxious to see that such a situation came about. Such developments would lead Perry Anderson to proclaim Paris as the “Capital of European Reaction.”28 

It was in this intellectual climate where Furet would negate the dominance of the social interpretation to create a new revisionist doctrine that would stand as the new prevailing orthodoxy, asserting that the revolution was not social and economic but purely political. In his book Interpreting the French Revolution Furet argued for placing an emphasis on subjectivity and ideology as opposed to objective social forces to explain the flow of revolutionary events. The degeneration of Bolshevism for Furet meant that a fresh perspective could be developed on the history of the revolution, where it was to be seen “not in terms of causes and consequence” but rather as the invention of a “new political discourse”. Rather than seeing history as a chain of cause and effect with events as a consequence of those prior, Furet saw history as essentially random, only given meaning by discourse.29 Furthermore, history was not a process based on an inevitable process of linear progress. In fact, it made no sense to talk of progress at all, only successive forms of domination and irregular explosions of rebellion. In this sense, Furet shared commonalities with another contemporary French philosopher, Michel Foucault. 

For inspiration Furet would look towards Alexis de Tocqueville and Augustin Cochin, constructing a historiographical tradition in opposition to that of the social historians. From Tocqueville, Furet took the idea that there was a continuity between the centralized absolutist state structure and the state that resulted from the revolution; the revolution was essentially an expression of a process of state centralization. This idea of continuity was seen as an antidote to the idea that the revolution was a radical break from the feudal to capitalist era, with the revolutionaries believing themselves to be ushering in an era of bourgeois liberty and economic progress. Furet also used Tocqueville to argue that proponents of the social interpretation and the theory of bourgeois revolution made the mistake of taking revolutionary leaders at their word, claiming there was a discrepancy between their objective historical role and their subjective perception of it.30

While Tocqueville stressed continuity, Augustin Cochin emphasized what Furet would call “the explosive character of the event” that was fueled by the internal dynamic of the revolutionary movement.31 Cochin was a Catholic traditionalist who wrote in the late nineteenth century and detested Jacobinism but obsessively sought to understand it. He interpreted it as a result of a growing “philosophical society” which came to political power to replace a collapsing system of corporate bodies. While the ancien régime state was based on corporate bodies which expressed particular interest groups, the “philosophical society” which came into power wished to create an order based on the general will of all individuals in society. These atomized individuals could form no general will according to Cochin, so the result was a centralization of power into the hands of the “philosophical society” which led a dictatorship in the name of a fictitious “people”.32 Furet takes from Cochin a focus on revolutionary ideology. The revolution ultimately formed an “ideocracy”, which in attempting to legitimate a new social order based on the sovereignty of the nation had to “compose a new society by excisions and exclusions…to designate and personalize the powers of evil”.33

From these authors, Furet created a synthesis that can be seen constituting the new revisionist orthodoxy. Whereas the Marxist-inspired social interpretation would focus on the objective social dynamics of class struggle that fueled the revolution, for Furet and many historians after him the subjective ideological discourse of revolutionaries was the main factor conditioning the outcome of events. A continuous process of state centralization that began with the ancien régime gave unprecedented state power to a small group of people, but there was also a radical break from the past in terms of political ideology. The socio-economic causes were of little importance for Furet, as the revolution was a purely political event.  To compare schools of historiography, the social historian Soboul viewed the Reign of Terror as a product of external and internal pressures of counter-revolution and the class struggles of the Sans-Culottes against grain speculation. Furet, on the other hand, argued that the terror flowed from the very political discourse of the revolution itself, which aimed to construct a “people’s will” through a unity based on the violent exclusion of the nobility. Furet’s ideas not only fell in line with a general pessimism about popular social change but also a general change in prevailing historical methodology with the rise of the “cultural turn” and post-structuralism.  

Under the guise of attacking teleology in Marxism, Furet instead created a new type of determinism, one based on the predominance of ideas rather than economics. If necessity and contingency exist as a dialectic for Marxist theory, for Furet the two exist in a crude opposition, with contingency being absolute. Rather than class struggle structured by relations and forces of production, the revolution flowed according to a linguistic discourse. Furet saw events like the storming of the Bastille and the Reign of Terror as random acts of spontaneity with no real basis in economic forces. Rather than an objective social force that structured history, class struggle was merely a linguistic discourse of revolutionaries applied to events that could take on a life of its own. By emphasizing discourse as a determinant, Furet was taking aim at philosophers who believed they could change the world by blaming their ideas on the violence of the revolution. And by emphasizing continuity with the old regime and dispelling the notion of bourgeois revolution, Furet was proclaiming that all of the violence of the revolution was unnecessary for the development of modernity. This is a philosophy of history devoid of possibility, which in the name of contingency against crude determinism actually consigns humanity to quietism, condemning any possibility of consciously understanding history and changing it for the better. 

Furet set the stage for a new orthodoxy to replace the old ways of the social interpretation. This was one that focused on culture rather than economics and class, avoiding any kind of teleology in favor of focusing on how people interpreted events. The “cultural turn” in history became the new norm and Marxism was more and more ‘discredited’ as the Soviet Union collapsed. A paradigm shift had occurred in history, but it was a kind of paradigm shift that would deny itself as progressive because it denies the notion of progress as too teleological. Authors focused on subjective public imagination instead of looking at any broader framework of determinism and causality. An example is author Lynn Hunt, whose Family Romance of the French Revolution utilized the work of Freud to look at how revolutionary writers visualized the absolutist order in terms of patriarchal authority, using familial metaphors to comprehend the revolt against the ancien régime as a revolt against the father.34 Another author who exemplified the cultural turn was Joan Landes, author of Visualizing the Nation. Landes focused on material culture to examine how gendered representations of bodies were used in popular artwork to link individuals to new identities of citizen and nation, with gendered imagery being used in a negative sense to delegitimize monarchy and define the enemy, as well as in a positive sense to define national values such as liberty, equality, nature, and truth. By personalizing the nation through gendered imagery, popular arts were able to create an emotional attachment to an abstract national identity.35 Furet’s focus on discourse and repudiation of objective economic causality opened the door for historians to focus instead on identity formation, subjectivity, and culture. There is no doubt interesting work done in this new paradigm. Yet something was lost in the desire to break down the old ways of social history: a sense that the revolution had a greater meaning than those subjectively given to it in the process of history and the struggle for human freedom. 

Canvas Print from 1795

Responding to Revisionism 

A full and sufficient response to revisionism is outside the bounds of this essay and would take up a project of wider scope. Yet to not address some of the arguments of the revisionists directly would be a simple appeal to negative ideological implications. Therefore in this section, a basic defense of the social history of the French Revolution will be asserted. This does not mean undertaking a defense of Lebevre’s and Soboul’s exact understanding of the French Revolution as a bourgeois revolutionit is unlikely that after decades of historical debate and inquiry, their interpretations wouldn’t need to be updated and refined. Instead, what is needed to adequately address the claims of revisionism is a defense of the social interpretation’s general understanding of the revolution as a class struggle, rooted in the class structure of French society, and also the category of bourgeois revolution and the applicability of this category to the French Revolution. To begin addressing these questions, we will need to look at the system of French absolutism and its class contradictions. 

The developmental path of French absolutism must be understood in comparison with England. In England, the crisis of feudalism in the fourteenth century led to the development of a middle peasantry who began to engage in small-scale capitalist farming. In response, enterprising landlords began a process of enclosure on common lands and took up large-scale capitalist farming, with peasants forced to either sell their labor or join this new class of agrarian capitalists.36 By the seventeenth century, capitalism was growing in the interstices of English society and the English revolution created a state fit for the rule of this capitalist class. By the end of the eighteenth century, England dominated Europe and set the pace of international competition. This process very much followed the ideal type of a bourgeois revolution, where a capitalist class grew inside a feudal framework and waged a revolutionary struggle to bring the state into harmony with the economy. 

France saw a divergent path of development. At the beginning of the fifteenth century, peasant communities were able to empower themselves to secure claims over common lands and heritability rights over tenures, enlarging their holdings by marketing surpluses. But just as this middle peasant class began to develop, they were squeezed out of existence by rising rents from landlords, who were slowly becoming impoverished and reasserted their seigneurial rights.37 While the French peasantry, unlike the English, were able to hold onto their traditional land rights, this meant they were in a position where landlords could use rent-squeezing to extract surplus. As a result, there was little incentive for both peasants and landlords to invest in improvements and engage in capitalist farming like they did in England. A peasantry now being squeezed of surplus revolted—for example, the Croquants rebellion in the late sixteenth/early seventeenth century, in which peasants appealed to the king to protect them from the unhindered exploitation of landlords.38 

It was from this dynamic of peasants appealing to the king for protection from seigneurial exploitation that the absolutist state developed. Preferring “royal authority to social anarchy”39 meant that lords were willing to tolerate the rise of the Bourbon monarchy as a lesser evil to outright destruction of the feudal order. Absolutism rose as a centralizing institution, providing peasants with a barrier to the harshest possible exploitation from local lords. Yet it also maintained the system of tributary domination, revamping it with a more consolidated and centralized state apparatus.40 The Crown needed to be able to tax the peasantry for income and therefore saw it in its interest to protect peasant property. Yet to fund this state apparatus it was necessary to tax the peasantry alongside the rents they paid to the nobility. To keep the nobility satisfied, the crown allowed a portion of the tax extracted to be shared with them through the selling of offices, which developed a massive bureaucracy to maintain their loyalty. While royal officials would often side with peasants in disputes, they nonetheless placed a burden upon the peasantry. Absolutism, regardless of its origins as a protector of the peasant, pushed the peasant down into poverty through taxation, preventing the emergence of a middle peasantry and therefore the development of endogenous capitalism.41 

From this portrayal of absolutist France, we can see that the critics of the social interpretation had a point: that the notion of an endogenous capitalist class developing within the feudal order, attaining class consciousness as a bourgeoisie, and throwing off the shackles of feudalism is not accurate. Because of the lack of a dynamic of class differentiation in the countryside, a bourgeois class did not form in France that was capable of uniting and leading a revolution according to its own class interests. Yet this should only discredit the notion of bourgeois revolution if we accept the most simplistic understanding of the concept, where a fully conscious bourgeoisie makes revolution and establishes capitalism, in a smooth and linear process. But what if we understand bourgeois revolution not just as an event, but also as a longer uneven process in history, one which contains simultaneous progress and setbacks? 

Regarding the lack of a coherent bourgeoisie in France before the revolution, it is important to point out that a bourgeois revolution need not be led by the bourgeoisie. This was pointed out by many Marxists, including Lenin and Trotsky, who saw the Russian bourgeoisie as too weak and conservative to wage a struggle against absolutism. Because the embryonic bourgeoisie in France was too tied to the absolutist order, it would fall to the popular classes under the leadership of professionals (Robespierre was a lawyer). In fact, neither Soboul nor Lefebvre argued that the commercial bourgeoisie spearheaded the revolution, even though they did tend to underplay how much the bourgeoisie was integrated into the absolutist order. A key part of the revolution, and the one that dealt the greatest blow to the old order, as pointed out by Lefebvre, was the revolt of the peasantry against seigneurial dues. Rather than a self-conscious bourgeois subject coming to power and proclaiming a fully formed capitalist system, bourgeois revolution is better understood as a process in which the old feudal order is negated through class struggle and a state order is established that provides the framework through which capitalism can develop.42 When it is the feudal ancien régime that stands as a barrier to the development of capitalism, then it is through the class struggle of the classes exploited by this order that these barriers are weakened. Because of the role of class struggle in this process, it makes no sense to speak of a “purely political” revolution as Furet does. 

The effect of the French Revolution on the development of capitalism was contradictory. The social historians tended to focus on the revolution as opening the way for capitalism, downplaying the ways by which it delayed capitalist development. On the other hand, revisionists like Cobban argued that the revolution was purely negative for the development of capitalism and perhaps set it back. The truth was that its relation to capitalist development was contradictory. The revolution’s blow to seigneurial tribute on the peasantry meant the removal of economic burdens on them, which allowed them to risk investing in greater specialization, paving the way for the development of polyculture.43 The privileges of nobles had been abolished and a republican form of rule was established, taking the state out of the hands of the church. A unified national market was formed, with feudal barriers to internal trade removed. Yet at the same time, the peasantry’s traditional land ownership rights were strengthened, preventing the dissolution of the peasant community into capitalist farmers and wage laborers.44 This was the key contradiction of the revolution: through the mobilization of the peasantry the old feudal order was weakened, yet this mobilization simultaneously strengthened the peasant and delayed the development of capitalism in France. 

While it could be argued that the strengthening of peasant land ownership makes it misleading to call the French Revolution bourgeois, this only makes sense if one sees history as a linear process without contradiction. It makes more sense to see the bourgeois revolution as a process, one for which the French Revolution was a particular breakthrough. Another way to look at it is by focusing on the degeneration of the revolution into Bonapartism. Because of the incoherence of the bourgeoisie in France, this class was incapable of ruling as a class. Neither was the proletariat, existing too only in an embryonic form, or the peasantry, incapable of forming their own institutions and thus representing themselves. Therefore, as Marx would later comment regarding the degeneration of the 1848 revolution, the peasantry had to be represented. The result was the regime of Napoleon, a representative who “must appear simultaneously as their master, as an authority over them…that protects them from the other classes and sends them rain and sunshine from above.”45 Rather than breaking through to the full rule of the bourgeoisie, the balance of classes in France led to the formation of what Marx would call Bonapartism, after its helmsman who stood as arbiter between the classes yet affirmed the state as a state for itself. This represented the maintenance of many of the revolution’s gains, but also a step back towards absolutism, eventually leading to a restoration of the monarchy. While this may complicate the social historians’ narrative of a clear-cut bourgeois revolution with no complications, it by no means entails abandoning their model of class analysis to capture these nuances.   

Revolutions are complex events, composed of contesting classes that bring their own interests into play, and these classes are themselves divided into various factions. It is often in the process of revolutions that classes develop their own ideologies and self-understanding, producing a political program to express their social interests. The French Revolution saw the creation of groundbreaking forms of bourgeois political rule even if it did not see the creation of the bourgeois economy in its ideal form. It saw the creation of a democratic-republic that was short-lived, yet set a standard for all revolutionary democrats to aim for. Popular movements that were groundbreaking in their radicalism formed and mobilized on a mass scale. Even if the rise of the bourgeoisie takes on central importance to the narrative, the French Revolution is not reducible to a bourgeois revolution alone. For example, the urban class struggles of Sans-Culottes, the radicalism of the Enragés, and Gracchus Babeuf’s Conspiracy of Equals point to a future socialist movement, suggesting a world beyond bourgeois right. Yet in the grand historical scheme, there is a class that ultimately wins out and benefits the most. In the case of the French Revolution, we can say that this class was the bourgeoisie. The revolution paved the way for the social and political ascension of this class, not just in France, but worldwide.

French educational card depicting the Jacobin Club

Conclusion

The revisionist turn cannot be separated from its deeper political implications, its aim to deemphasize the idea that history can be understood in terms of class struggle, or that history is even intelligible as something which contains progress; it posits instead that history is simply a series of power discourses, in which relations of domination are merely shifted in different ways. While the revisionists may have pointed out some flaws in the works of the social historians, these flaws are not sufficient enough to abandon an understanding of the French Revolution in terms of class conflict. Clearly, the complexity of the French Revolution means that we cannot simply view it in terms of a binary conflict, bourgeois versus feudal. Yet the alternative of revisionists is to simply make the revolution irrational, a sort of freak accident with no deeper causation in history. In this world, we can only understand the rioting of peasants and the conflicts between artisans and speculators as a sort of irrational mob violence inspired by ideology run amok and demagogic intellectuals, where instead there is class struggle undergirded by deeper class antagonisms. To the revisionist historian, these class struggles are just a pointless waste of human life without reason. The end results of the revolution are not to drive history forward, but merely to replace one set of rulers with another. There is neither progress nor regress, merely changing the culture and discourse of domination. This alternative understanding of the French Revolution was of great help to those who wished to see an end to revolutionary politics, and it is no surprise the most vocal exponent of it was Furet, and ex-Communist Cold Warrior like any other. If the French Revolution could be shown to have no relation to human progress, then there was no ground for revolution itself to have a potentially progressive role, unless it perhaps occurred in the most orderly way. It was a perfect historical reading of the past for the “end of history”. 

The response to the overturning of the social history of the French Revolution should not be to mindlessly cling to dogmas and dismiss the revisionist historians as bad actors. It would be a miracle if Lefebvre and Soboul got every detail of the French Revolution right, and there is no doubt that they could often follow a rigid Marxism. We must engage with the critics of Marxism and social history if we are to improve and ultimately fine-tune our own analysis. Yet even as a foil to contend with, revisionism is weak. As an alternative, the likes of Furet merely offer only confusion and cover for reactionary ideas. Historical studies that focus on revolutionary political culture may open new vistas of research, yet when unanchored by a materialist class analysis they are exercises in the hobbyistic study of antique aesthetics that tell us nothing about their greater meaning in history. Even if the idea of bourgeois revolution was completely discredited, it would be necessary to understand the French Revolution in terms of class struggle as a heroic episode in the narrative of human emancipation. It is this aspect of the social historians’ project that will always be relevant. The capitalist class today want us to see history as random events with no causality with no logic or sense of progress so that we resign any hope of becoming subjects of history that can change the world. The French Revolution is significant because it is exactly the opposite of resignation to the established flow of history as described by our rulers, a revolt against those hierarchies and dogmas said to be eternal in favor of a society based on the agency of humans. It is for this reason that the bourgeoisie hates Jacobinism rather than proclaiming it as part of their historical heritage. To quote Lenin: 

It is natural for the bourgeoisie to hate Jacobinism. It is natural for the petty bourgeoisie to dread it. The class-conscious workers and working people generally put their trust in the transfer of power to the revolutionary, oppressed class for that is the essence of Jacobinism, the only way out of the present crisis, and the only remedy for economic dislocation and the war.46

It no is surprise then that the historiography of the French Revolution has always been an ideological battle. The earliest disputes between the monarchists and republicans with a decaying aristocracy in the background foreshadowed the later debate between revisionists and social historians, debates that were informed by Cold War struggle between global camps of Soviet Communism and Western capitalism. Today, when our future history is uncertain, those who aim to struggle for a world beyond oppression and exploitation will also have to struggle over the meaning of the French Revolution.  

 

No Replacement For The Marxist Theory Of Revolution

Gabriel Radic argues that various attempts in academia to develop theories of revolution as alternatives to Marx’s theory of revolution and historical materialism only serve to disguise the centrality of class contradiction in these events. 

Landing of the French fleet in Santo Domingo following the revolutions of this island (1803)

Within the academic milieus of social scientific analysis and research, there is a peculiar tendency that seeks to reduce social phenomena to generic compartments which are invented and imposed on these phenomena. A handful of fitting historical examples are selectively chosen and sewn into a narrative that seeks to prove that the mechanisms of social existence can be scientifically observed, predicted, and calculated as if people were atoms. This attempt to quantify the dynamism of the human condition manifests itself in academic attempts to replace Marxism as a theory of revolution.

Asserting the primacy of any one historical or sociological factor in assessing every revolution or form of resistance while downplaying the importance of other critical elements is an act of ahistorical reductionism that has no place in the interdisciplinary study of revolutionary theory. Revolutions are borne from a multiplicity of factors relevant to the conditions of that society. Economic formations, ideological currents, and the rise and fall of institutional power all coalesce in differing environments that provide an impetus for resistance against hegemonic actors, and, on rare occasions, their overthrow.

To overcome the deficiencies of bourgeois analysis, it is imperative to use historical materialism as a tool for understanding historical development. Historical materialism is the methodology of Marxist historiography and views historical developments and all other phenomena in their totality and interconnectedness. Marxism accomplishes this by observing (not interpreting) how society materially produces and reproduces its own existence, and the ideological consequences rendered therefrom. It is superior to the nitpicking of historical phenomena by the pseudo-intellectual legions of academics who formulate vapid and transient theories that arise to prominence and fail the test of time within a generation.

Before briefly considering academic perspectives that fail to assess revolution in all its complexities, it is important to define our object of concern. These texts concern themselves with the terms ‘resistance’ and ‘revolution,’ concepts that, when taken as identical, are inexact and will lead to vague conclusions, if any. Let us set aside ‘resistance’ and focus on a precise form of revolution: social revolution. These revolutions, vis-à-vis political revolutions, not only affect the mass of society but arise from the masses themselves. The participation of the masses in the successful exoneration of their own existence leads to the most dramatic societal changes, as the grasping of their own destiny often animates the consciousness of disaffected souls the world over. The identification of the most important sociological and historical factors in successful social revolutions will occupy our considerations hereafter.

Of all the readings considered in this essay, with whatever brevity, only one addresses the near-ubiquitous deficiency of social science. Theda Skocpol, the author of States and Social Revolutions, puts forward a criticism of the incomprehensiveness of the social sciences, stating “analytic oversimplification cannot lead us toward valid, complete explanations of revolutions.” She then goes on to commit the same errors by focusing on merely three historical examples (despite having the space of a book with which to overcome this indolence).1 Nevertheless, the author correctly identifies the most important factor behind social revolutions and the underlying antagonism of human society since the inception of society itself: socioeconomic class.

It is necessary to briefly describe what class is and how class warfare operates under its most recent economic incarnation in order to properly evaluate the causality of successful social revolutions.

Class is the most important factor in social revolutions because to put it simply, it embodies all of society. People compose society and all participants of society fit into a class, no matter how the gradations of class are framed. Therefore the economy and all of the civic, religious, academic, etc. institutions arise from the activity of classes, of humankind.

Class is defined by the operations of economic forces; the class typology thereby defers to the essence of the economy in any given historical period: master and slave, lord and serf, employer and employee. Under capitalism, the array of classes of feudal and slave societies of the past are increasingly reduced to two camps, the proletariat and bourgeoisie, whose inherent, irredeemable incompatibility are exacerbated by the monopolization and cartelization of productive forces under the capitalist form. The latter bourgeois elements invariably consume one another until a protracted alliance of monopolies and cartels is globally established to ensure the perpetuation of bourgeois hegemony. Bourgeois precedence over the consolidation of industry is predicated on the material dispossession of the proletariat through the exploitation of their labor in vicious class warfare. At certain historical junctures, a variety of factors align that move the proletariat to exercise its power in an overwhelming display which lays siege to the order under which its existence is realized to no longer be tolerable. These factors are as follows: the widespread dispersion of class consciousness; the weakening or collapse of existing institutions of bourgeois power; and the strategic funneling of working-class power by an organized, revolutionary vanguard.

Theda Skocpol correctly identifies all successive theories of social revolutions as emerging from this Marxist framework of class warfare. These latter theories variously emphasize other properties and conditions of social revolution that appear prominently in selective case studies, such as psychology (aggregate-psychological theories), violence (systems/value consensus), and organized groups (political-conflict theories), all of which operate under an ideological umbrella of sorts.2 These pretending theories amount to a vulgarization of Marxism as they attempt to dissect and/or re-orient the reciprocal totality of the base and superstructure in favor of selective components of this totality. Skocpol also confuses the theory of class struggle through her creation of a false ambiguity between the bourgeoisie and the state, asserting that the latter is not necessarily a tool of the former, but an independent entity. This arbitrary demarcation partially undermines her methodology, as it is selectively exercised, in turn diminishing the scientific validity of her structuralist analysis.

While Skocpol’s works signaled the culmination of the third generation of revolutionary theory, it would be imprudent to ignore other major contributors to this school and highlight their deficiencies.

The most significant contributions of the third generation were Crane Brinton’s rising expectations theory, David Aberle’s relative deprivation theory, and James Davies’ J-curve theory. Brinton’s magnum opus only assesses four revolutions where he develops his observation that economic upturn results in increased expectations that go on not to be met, causing a revolution as a result.3 In a similar conception, Aberle borrows a theory from political science—relative deprivation—and applies it sociologically to a few historical examples. His theory states that social revolutions occur when enough people perceive “a negative discrepancy between expectation and actuality.”4 Davies focuses on a mere three revolutions to explain his J-curve theory that social revolution occurs when rising expectations and needs satisfaction are dashed by a period of abrupt economic decline.5

These theories all use selective events in an effort to realize overlapping causal trends of social revolutions. At the base of all of them is a change in economic conditions and a realization of this by an overwhelming number of people. These theories are all explanations of class consciousness giving rise to class warfare but reconfigured by Western academics in an effort to create some original, new theory. The Marxian analysis takes into consideration everything these academics write about without either ignoring or underplaying the ascendant role of class in social revolutions.

All told, the Marxian analysis of history does not bind itself with arbitrary limitations, and a wealth of disagreements and diversity of thought have arisen under the methodological framework of historical materialism. In its observance of the production and reproduction of our materiality through capitalist economic formations, we can extrapolate empirically and comprehensively the effects of this base on all components of the superstructure, and their subsequent reciprocity. Within this framework, we observe class, class consciousness, and class warfare as the vehicle for social change, namely social revolutions, while taking under consideration the totality of competing forces within capitalist society. The arbitrariness of bourgeois historians and social scientists in their selectively drawing out of features and trends in this totality simply obscures the reality of historical development, while their ideological convictions lead them to underplay the critical importance of class society in an effort to reduce class consciousness within academic environments and popular culture, thereby perpetuating capitalist ideology.

Long, Queer Revolution

Revolution won’t follow a neat and clean schema, fitting easily into one stage or another, argues Tom Frome. Instead, revolution will be a long process, a process that cannot always be categorized with preconceived definitions. The ideal of revolutionary vision never fully survives contact with the messy and unpredictable realities of political change.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Is it possible for a single mind to fully fathom the transition from capitalism to communism? I can, without too much trouble, imagine a group of about twenty people doing something like communism, but if the size of the group grows much beyond that, I’m at a loss. What’s more, imagining the end goal is not the same as imagining the transition. How fast should we expect it to be? Expecting it to happen overnight is obviously unreasonable, but why? Is it only because we’re not sufficiently organized? Or does it have to do with the stickiness of the way the means of production are set up (what some people call ‘path dependence’)? Is it mainly a question of skills? Ideology? And, even if we can all agree that it’s going to take longer than a day, how much longer? A month? A decade?

The socialist revolution is taking much longer than most socialists expected. In many ways, it has not conformed to our (always rather cartoonish) idea of what socialism should look like. Lenin led us to believe that revolts in the colonized countries would lead to a crisis of capitalism in the imperial core. They have — just not as quickly as we had hoped. Trotsky talked about uneven and combined development and emphasized the international character of the revolution. He has been vindicated, of course, by the spread of socialism to many different countries over the last century in an uneven and combined manner. The socialist revolution currently sweeping the globe is not the clean and simple transition between nice self-contained stages that any one person could have anticipated, let alone planned. It’s gigantic, slow-moving, and hard to make out (the image of Leviathan comes to mind). It’s also queer as fuck.1

This queerness is baked into communism, defined variously as the ideal of a stateless, classless society or as the real movement abolishing present conditions. Communism can’t ever retreat fully into the ideal without a trace of guilty conscience (although recent authors have certainly tried), just as it can’t ever be fully at home on earth. It’s neither here nor there, neither philosophy nor politics, but instead something liminal, in-between — one could say it combines the philosopher’s disdain for politics and the politician’s impatience with philosophy.

The much-maligned ‘transitional stage’ shares in the same queerness, since it implies the simultaneity and admixture of (terribly real) capitalist and (too often ephemeral) communist forms of social reproduction. This results, naturally, in a proliferation of hard-to-categorize arrangements and nearly as many splits.2 Each socialist faction believes it has the ratio of ideal to real exactly right, that it alone knows how to sort these arrangements into socialist and non-, and that every other faction is mistaken, evil, or both. It hopes thereby to expel or contain the scandalous indeterminacy that characterizes communism as a whole. But these judgments are just some function of the life experiences of the group’s members. Whatever validity they have is situated and temporal – it can’t be expected to cover socialism, that is, the entire transition, a process spanning continents and epochs. We can’t apprehend this process at all except by way of gross generalization, or, in other words, violent abstraction.

There’s no problem with abstraction as long as it recognizes its one-sidedness. Abstraction presents things not as they are (that is, almost endlessly messy) but instead in a way that’s user-friendly, self-identical, and suitable for symbolic manipulation. This is vital in that it enables us to think and speak about things that concern us, even very big and complex things. Abstraction, though, is prone to erasing concrete differences. It’s also utterly free, in the sense that it’s not bound to any particular level of resolution, and here I have in mind particularly the scale of a single human life. When we speak about socialism, we’re speaking about something that is much bigger than the behavior or decisions of any one person. Whatever conclusions we draw at this macro level (say, regarding the value-form) cannot be translated in any straightforward way into practical lessons for individuals without paying very close attention to the jungle of mediating levels standing between the macro and the micro.3 This is rarely done. As a result of this failure (or at least owing to the same forces that cause it), we see a polarization between partisans of abstraction and partisans of commitment. Where the former speak in absolutes, the latter trade in apologetics.

It’s practically a tautology to say that whatever we do as a species will make use of both abstraction and commitment. What’s not obvious is where the golden mean between these two poles is to be found in any given situation. For all of us on the Left, the status quo is a world that’s far too committed to any number of outdated and inhumane practices. Dissolving these commitments is plainly one of our central goals. But this implies developing new commitments — to our comrades, to the new practices and institutions we aim to bring about, and to a socialist tradition comprising certain values and lessons, whatever we take these to be. At the same time, each of these things is indelibly marked by the past. Our comrades are products of class society. New institutions will inevitably have some kind of continuity with the ones they replace. And any tradition worth the name stretches back into an obscure (but definitely problematic) past.

There’s a millenarian tradition in socialism that has no problem saying “To hell with it, then!” Its most recent expression is the communization tendency around Endnotes and Théorie Communiste. Here we see die-hard partisanship of abstraction. It’s no surprise that these groups offer little to nothing in the way of revolutionary strategy. They even have an epithet for the bad kind of Marxism that used to strategize: “programmatism.” But a strategy is just a story about the future in which we achieve our goals. It’s a good strategy insofar as it is detailed and plausible, anticipates challenges we’re likely to face along the way, and provides entry points for individuals to get involved in carrying it out. The story is the necessary translation of an abstract analysis into an immediate cause. Without such a translation, abstraction has no purchase on the world.

The extremism of the partisans of abstraction has driven others into the opposed (but not opposite) partisanship of commitment, usually expressed as “upholding” anything that bears the slightest resemblance to socialism. Apart from being reactive and arguably parasitic on other people’s hard work, this form of partisanship (like that of abstraction) is effete, mainly serving to bolster its adherents’ moral standing in a certain kind of debate. Anti-imperialism in the developed countries, despite being full of the best intentions, has hardly any successes to its name. Apart from soldiers fragging their officers and the occasional act of industrial sabotage, it’s hard to even imagine what successful anti-imperialism in the core would look like. Commitment is vital, but a commitment that is exclusive to struggles elsewhere becomes automatic and uncritical (what is there to do but cheerlead?). It loses its room to move, to grow, to alter its environment and learn from that activity. Effective solidarity with others requires successful class war at home, and this requires more than just commitment. Only abstraction gives an idea transplantability. Without it, socialism can’t undergo the adaptations it needs to put down roots in new soil.

What do we gain from viewing the revolution as a long, queer process? Perhaps the most salutary effect is that it lets us stop arguing about whether any given state ‘is’ or ‘is not’ socialist. ‘Socialism’ names a global transition; a given state may take a leading role in this transition for a time, but we should expect any state, even one in the lead, to be advancing along some fronts while it regresses or stagnates on others (wouldn’t it be entirely too stagist to imagine otherwise?). The game of tallying up progressive vs. regressive features in order to cleanly demarcate socialist countries from capitalist ones can’t ever be brought to a satisfying close, precisely because socialism is just capitalism’s turning into something else, a process that is spread out over the human race in a constantly shifting (combined and uneven) mosaic. It’s unreasonable to think in terms of pure anything, to expect any given fight or institutional innovation to be the fight or the innovation that, if everyone just got on board with it, would finally usher in communism. Instead, we should think in terms of roles — is x playing a progressive role in situation y? Trying to aggregate the answers to this question to arrive at an overall ‘socialism’ score is just as misguided as any other quantity purporting to capture quality.4

Another benefit of this approach is that it emphasizes a long-term strategic outlook. This is the flipside of one criticism that could be leveled at it: that it robs socialism of urgency. While the idea of a clear black-and-white victory achievable in our lifetimes is good at getting people moving, it tends to encourage short-term thinking. One expression of this is social democracy, which despairs of achieving radical change any time soon, and so puts off the question indefinitely. Another is insurrectionism, as with e.g. The Invisible Committee. The most elegant solution (And not coincidentally the cheapest, although not the most lucrative), though, is to be so impatient that only self-cultivation in this world will do the trick, and to turn one’s focus inward, away from politics, force, and compromise.

Beautiful-soul moralism can take the form of anarchism, left communism, or even call itself ‘non-ideological.’ By divesting entirely from any commitment except to a scattered collection of useful martyrs, this approach guarantees the believer will keep their tradition (such as it is) unblemished. Of the three approaches, it’s probably the last that has the most bile for those transitional (read: queer) measures that fall short of its strict ideal.

So excessive impatience is clearly a trap. But if we lose the sense of urgency that comes from the idea that global communism is attainable in our lifetimes, where else are we supposed to find it? Couldn’t I just slack off and let the long, queer revolution go on without me? Besides which, doesn’t climate change make a case for urgency? If we don’t achieve communism before it’s too late, we’re all boiled frogs, aren’t we?

A proper sense of urgency comes not from the abstraction ‘capitalism transitions into communism by way of socialism,’ but from commitments we make to each other, which are already at the right level of resolution (that of a human life) and require no translation. A good strategy, then, must make use of this fact instead of railing against it (as e.g. class reductionists do), while also encompassing the inhuman scale that abstraction opens up to us. As Brecht put it:

We must neglect nothing in our struggle against that lot. What they’re planning is nothing small, make no mistake about it. They’re planning for thirty thousand years ahead. Colossal things. Colossal crimes. They stop at nothing. They’re out to destroy everything. Every living cell contracts under its blows. That is why we too must think of everything.

The argument about climate change comes from an idealist perspective in which the revolution can simply hitch its wagon to an issue and be catapulted to stardom by the direness of that issue. This gets it precisely backward. The question of power decides which issues are on the docket, not the issues themselves. The reason there hasn’t been a meaningful response to climate change (except, arguably, in some of the countries calling themselves socialist) is that the Western Left, by and large, has been stuck doing triage for decades instead of building power. Since we’ve failed to organize methodically in a way that might conceivably put us in the driver’s seat, we have not been able to make dealing with climate change a priority. This doesn’t mean that climate change won’t affect politics — it will, and it’s going to be horrifying. Fascist lifeboat politics have already entered the mainstream. But just raising the hue and cry about this does hardly anything to slow it down, let alone reverse it. Climate change is a powerful incentive to get our shit together, not a deus ex machina — there’s no way to address it that lets us skip over having to organize the working class to seize state power.

But maybe we’ve moved too far in the direction of humility and patience to still affirm this seemingly outdated formula. What’s the point of seizing state power if you can’t be sure you’ll be able to do socialism with it? Doesn’t the whole ruptural strategy presuppose a certain clarity of purpose that we’ve already thrown out with the bathwater? Here the left communists and others who talk about ‘socialism from below’ can be helpful. If the transition from capitalism to communism depends not on a small, highly disciplined cadre, but instead on ordinary people collectively taking charge of their own affairs, this implies that those people will need to develop the habits and techniques of self-governance. This has two components. For one thing, it means appropriating for themselves the right to legitimate force, and ceasing to recognize pro-capitalist (state and non-state) violence as legitimate. At the same time, this is literally unthinkable in the context of a bourgeois state in full possession of its faculties. Only the failure and subversion of those states, culminating in their replacement by workers’ states, can create the necessary clearings for those myriad queer experiments to flourish into communism — these being, after all, the only basis on which it may ever be established.